Shepard Goes To Noveria, or: Torrid Turians
by Carnivorous Pineapple
Summary: Shepard returns to Noveria to oversee the resurrection of a special turian. Only one problem...she's dating someone else already. And when a certain office manager catches her attention, her love life becomes even more hopelessly complicated...
1. In Which Shepard Spends Money

**Chapter One: In Which Shepard Spends Money**

Sometimes Shepard really wished that the _Normandy_ came equipped with portholes. Of course there was no need for sightseeing on a warship, and silly things like windows were a frivolity that couldn't be afforded by the Alliance's taxpayers. So instead, she lay back on her bed—the _only_ bed on the ship, she reminded herself somewhat smugly—and stared up at the ceiling, envisioning the whiteness of Noveria's atmosphere as the _Normandy_ descended into Port Hanshan. Sharp snowflakes would be swirling around the curved nose of the ship, and then be left behind in spinning eddies before continuing their long journey to the ground. Shepard smiled and hummed a Christmas tune. It was May back on Earth, but no matter the month, snow never failed to put her in a cheery holiday mood. Besides, she was about to give herself the best present _ever._ Ever since she'd enlisted, her life had lacked a proper Christmas; high time to make up for those eleven years without an expensive present.

And this would be a whopper.

Shepard frowned a little at that thought. It wasn't much of a present if you had to pay for it yourself. Of course, if not for Saren's controlling interest in Binary Helix, her plan wouldn't even be possible…although it had been quite a task to wade through the red tape and legal obstacles to get this far. Thank goodness for lawyers who could find loopholes in anything. Shepard thought Saren's family might still be sending her hatemail about it, although her public relations people took care of that nasty business for her. No matter; in the end, she was still the savior of the galaxy, and she still owned Binary Helix.

"You know, Commander, when I said I was thinking about taking my next leave here, I was _joking. _It wasn't supposed to be a serious suggestion."

Shepard sighed and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Joker was a good pilot, but everything about him grated on her nerves. If he wasn't, in fact, the best, then she never would have tolerated him aboard. The fact that he _was_ only made him more irritating. His ability to comm her room directly only exacerbated things. His sense of timing was atrocious.

"Anyway, we're cleared to land. Should be docked in a minute."

Her spirits mostly undaunted by Joker's sarcasm, she bounced off the bed and headed toward the bridge, still humming _It Came Upon A Midnight Clear._

***

This time around, Shepard was greeted by a more cordial affair. (After all, she was spending money—and lots of it.) Just outside the _Normandy_ waited a respectable compliment of security and businesspeople, led by Maeko Matsuo and a grim turian who seemed to be the replacement for Kaira Stirling. Shepard smiled cheerily at them both, her heart warmed by the memory of a well-placed shotgun blast obliterating Stirling's obnoxiously dour face.

"Good afternoon, Commander. It's good to see you again, although I hope your stay will be less confrontational this time." The petite human's expression was carefully reserved as always, but a hint of a frown betrayed her doubts that such would be the case.

Shepard nodded, although she absently fingered her pistol out of habit. Always better to be prepared—but she had far more pleasant things on her mind. "Captain Matsuo, good to see you again as well. How go the operations at Peak 15?" She didn't expect that ERCS had had any real trouble clearing out the rest of the geth (not that she'd left many behind—although Binary Helix was probably having a field day with the synthetic remains she'd left strewn throughout the facility).

Matsuo assured her that everything was well, and the two made polite small talk on their way to the administrator's office. It was all a formality, of course; Shepard had made the arrangements well in advance, and Parasini would be disinclined to hinder her. The former internal affairs agent owed her one, after all. Shepard intended to milk that debt for all it was worth.

***

"…So if you require assistance in any way, we'll be happy to cooperate. And don't forget, commander, I still owe you that beer."

"After a couple hours of red tape and legal-ese, I'll probably be wanting one," Shepard sighed, picturing the posh hotel bar in her mind. She'd always regretted turning down Lorik Qui'in's offer of a drink. It seemed patently unfair that although her job frequently took her to bars, she never had time to kick back and relax in one. Saving the galaxy waited for no man, woman, or child, after all…

"Well then, just give me a call when you're ready for a break. Running a planet might not be quite as stressful as being a Spectre, but it's no cakewalk, either. We can't _all_ bludgeon through it, after all."

The two women shared amused looks, although Shepard was glad the affair was almost over. She had much more important business to get to, and the sudden butterflies in her stomach weren't helping any. It had been so long since she'd seen him…

"Well, if there's nothing else, I'll have my assistant direct you to Binary Helix. I'm sure you're anxious to start formally overseeing the operations here."

"Thanks, Gianna. And congratulations again on the promotion."

After stopping to get directions from Parasini's assistant—a young salarian, she noted with amusement—Shepard made her way toward what she supposed she could now call _her_ offices. After this, of course, she wouldn't have much to do with the actual affairs of the company. She'd have to appoint an executor to take care of the details. Perhaps Liara would—no, she decided just as quickly, the asari didn't really have a head for business, even if her mother apparently had. Besides, she was quite busy with family life. The last Shepard had heard, she and Kaidan had settled down in Vancouver and Liara was adjusting to life on Earth—not to mention life with kids. Shepard still wasn't quite sure what had ever possessed Liara to have children so young, nor how, exactly, she and Kaidan had ended up together. _What a bizarre couple_, Shepard thought, and not for the first time, as she boarded the elevator to Binary Helix. _Especially since Kaidan told me Liara wasn't his type…_

The train of thought faded as the elevator began to move and a canned newsfeed began to play. Nothing terribly interesting was happening in the galaxy that day, although the campaigns for new council representatives were ramping up as the election approached. She would be glad when it was over; she'd heard enough already about how Ambassador Udina voted for Issue 67 before voting against it and then for it again, or how Anderson was once pulled over for driving while under the influence of red sand.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal the same drab grey that comprised every other office in Port Hanshan, and Shepard stepped out, frowning in disappointment. It was probably to be expected—Saren hadn't really seemed like the type to pay much attention to interior decoration. Still, a Christmas tree or two, covered in sparkling tinsel and colorful ornaments, would do much to improve the bland atmosphere. Even a fresh coat of paint, perhaps a soothing blue or peach, could only help matters. Shepard resolved to bring it up at the meeting.

She stepped up to the receptionist, a cheerfully glowing hanar. (How sad, she thought, when the employees supplied most of the color in the place.)

"Welcome to the Noveria branch of Binary Helix. How may this one help you today?"

"My name's Shepard, I'm a Spectre. I have an appointment with the executive board?"

It was impossible to tell the hanar's mood, but Shepard thought it was pleased to see her. Most likely if she hadn't shown up, it would have fallen to it to find her. Given the reputation of Spectres on Noveria, it probably would have approached the task with some trepidation.

"Of course, Commander. You are expected." The hanar typed at its desk with one tentacle, and behind it a door slid open to reveal a snappily dressed asari. "Adelia will show you to the conference room."

"This way, Commander."

Shepard followed the asari through the door and down a hallway just as grey as ever, although the carpet underfoot was a soft dark blue. It was a start, anyway. The conference room was situated toward what had to be the back of the offices, up a short elevator ride, and guarded by a pair of turians from ERCS. One of them nodded respectfully to her as they passed; she thought perhaps she recognized her facial marks as being from the same colony as Garrus.

Inside, the conference room was a plush contrast to the rest of the office. The walls were paneled with some exotic, dark wood and the floor was carpeted in thick, dark red. The central table was a more modern affair of steel and glass, as were the few artworks scattered about the room. A window might have improved matters further, but in all it was a cozy affair.

Already seated at the table was a tall, dark turian who rose to greet her. "Commander Shepard. I'm Fovea Arenus, the manager of this branch of Binary Helix. Welcome back to Noveria."

"Good to meet you, Fovea," Shepard replied as she shook the turian's hand. "And it's good to be back. I'm looking forward to working with BH here."

"Yes, I'm quite enthusiastic about what we can accomplish with this collaboration. I must say that I was surprised to hear the direction you were interested in taking—quite a departure from Saren's pursuits."

Shepard nodded, arranging a suitable rueful smile on her face. "I hope that we can bring something good from his death, terrible as it was."

Fovea steepled her fingers and nodded pensively. "It was quite a whirlwind of uncertainty for a while there, wasn't it? The death of a shareholder is always a trying time, but with such an unclear chain of succession…" She shrugged. In the back of her mind, Shepard was amused to note the decidedly human gesture. "It's for the best that it stays in the Spectre family, so to speak. I believe you'll find that the board agrees."

* * *

The board meeting was as tedious an affair as expected. Shepard emerged feeling drained in a way that she never had after a long day of blowing geth away, but she was confident that she'd represented well. Her laywers had armed her to the teeth, even if she _had _forgotten at least half of their advice between then and now.

It wasn't over, of course, although the hardest part was behind her. Now it was time to get to her main purpose for coming, and for that she descended into the labs of Binary Helix, another dull grey expanse barricaded behind thick walls and swarms of ERCS guards. It was much busier than the offices above; scientists bustled to and fro through the hallways and between the labs, carrying beakers or sheafs of scribbled notes or rolling large pieces of highly complicated equipment. Shepard found herself dodging experiments more than once.

"Oh! Commander Shepard! Thank you, Adelia, I can show the Commander around from here—"

"Rana," Shepard greeted the asari, who looked as high-strung as ever. A pair of safety glasses were perched on her forehead, and her lab coat was covered in…well, Shepard had no idea what it was. "I see you've been quite busy. How's the position working out for you?"

"Wonderful, wonderful, thank you," Rana Thanoptis replied, vigorously shaking Shepard's hand. "Much less dangerous than—err—well, I'm very grateful for your assistance in getting the job. I'm quite enjoying myself and this project—well! It's fascinating, ground-breaking, very difficult stuff. But we're very close, ahead of schedule actually. If you'll just follow me this way to my office.."

Rana's office was more orderly than any of the other rooms Shepard had passed; she suspected that the asari didn't spend much time in it.

"Dr. Chorbis can fill you in on some of the other details, but I thought you'd be interested to know how much my experience with Sovereign has helped us here. Of course it's unfortunate that all my research was destroyed—ahh—" For a moment, Rana looked flustered. "Completely necessary, of course, the base had to be eliminated. Anyway. I remembered quite a bit and was able to work out a lot of the details again. My research into the neurological aspects of indoctrination—well, it's been instrumental in convincing organs, especially the brain, to begin functioning properly again…"

Rana had much more to say on the subject, despite her previous assurance that the lead scientist could tell her the most. Shepard was pleased to find she could actually follow most of the scientist's explanations, even though biology had never been her strong suit in high school. Either she retained information well, or Rana was dumbing things down big-time.

_Probably both,_ she told herself as the asari winded down her long speech about the possible side effects of the procedure and what could be expected. She surreptitiously checked her watch (how strange it was to wear a regular wristwatch instead of utilizing her hardsuit's built-in timepiece!): 1741. Almost dinnertime. She just had one more thing to do first.

"…So physical therapy may be required for the first few weeks, but in the worst case it could very well take up to a year. Cases like this are very tricky. But we're quite optimistic." Rana paused to take a drink of coffee. Shepard wondered how long it had been sitting on her desk. "And now, I'm sure you'd like to see him?"

She straightened, feeling the twinge of nerves in her stomach again. The memory of piercing green eyes suddenly sprang to the forefront of her mind. Sleek Phantom armor and the graceful way he'd moved through the ship... "Yes. Yes, I would."

"Right this way, then…"

Shepard followed Rana through another long hallway and into an elevator that took them ever further down. She wondered just how deep into the planet the facility extended—and just how much went on here that she would never hear about even as a majority shareholder.

"Ah, here we are. Cryogenic Storage." The elevator doors slid open, halting the cheery muzak that had been accompanying them for the past two minutes, and Shepard was pleased to see that gray concrete had been replaced by sleek metal plating, polished almost to a mirror finish. She was less pleased to find the temperature had dropped far enough for a faint ghost of her breath to be visible. Well, it was to be expected.

They passed several doors, all hardly distinguishable from the walls except for the faint, recessed outline. Each had a softly glowing screen with a name and medical notes beneath; Shepard caught a glimpse of some words that looked suspiciously like _Matriarch Benezia_ and found herself unsurprised.

"Here we are, Commander. Take as long as you need; I'll be up in my office if you have any more questions."

Shepard murmured a thank-you, her attention already gripped by the door that Rana had led her to; the asari's retreating footsteps barely registered. She reached out, hesitantly, and laid her hand on the cool metal surface next to the screen.

NIHLUS KRYIK

DATE OF BIRTH: November 18 2148

DATE OF DEATH: August 26 2183

"Nihlus," Shepard said with a sigh. "I know I only knew you for a few days on the _Normandy_, but…all those little moments in the mess hall. Brushing past you on the stairs. Comparing shotguns. You were always evaluating me for the Spectres, but I know there was more to it…more than professional curiosity." She fell silent, recalling one morning when they'd discussed early human history over breakfast. The Spectre had been particularly interested in ancient human cultures, and the two had spent several hours comparing and contrasting the beginnings of human and turian civilization. They'd both learned a fair amount about each other—and she didn't think it had anything to do with his evaluation of her combat skills. There'd been other times when she would look across the room to find him watching her, seemingly fascinated, when she was doing nothing more interesting than refilling her coffee cup.

"You know, I still feel guilty about Eden Prime. I know there wasn't anything I should have done differently…but if we had moved on from the dig site just a minute sooner, or not talked with those two scientists at the camp…" She bit her lip absently. "But I took care of Saren. I guess that probably won't make you very happy…I know you two were friends. Trust me, though, you wouldn't have liked him any more. I felt sorry for him, before the whole thing was over with. He may have been a crazy human-hater before he was indoctrinated, but nobody deserves to have their mind possessed by an ancient machine. And he came through for us there at the end…"

Shepard fell silent again, her mood turned melancholy by the memory of the trials she'd gone through to finally defeat Saren and Sovereign. There was no response from the cryo unit except for the same soft, mechanical hum that tingled against her palm.

"In a few days, I'll be telling this to you face-to-face, so I suppose there's no reason to keep pouring my heart out to you right now." She brightened again at the prospect of having dinner in a quiet corner of one of the fancier restaurants in Port Hanshan, just the two of them and a bottle of wine…well, two bottles, if they both wanted to imbibe. Dratted amino acids.

On impulse, she kissed her finger and brushed it across his name on the screen. "I'll see you then, Nihlus."


	2. In Which Shepard Becomes Conflicted

**Chapter Two: In Which Shepard Becomes Conflicted**

It was 1935 by the time Shepard emerged from Binary Helix, her energy even further drained and her stomach giving her loud minute-by-minute updates on its empty state. Dinner at the hotel restaurant sounded fabulous, but her first goal was a shower—a _real_ shower, with proper water flow and a big, fluffy towel that would actually be useful in drying herself off. Shepard had lived with the _Normandy's_ sparse facilities for too long (even if she did get the best of them as the commanding officer).

Her hotel room was one of the finest that Port Hanshan could offer—the bed was a king-sized monstrosity, soft enough for her to sink halfway into when she flopped onto it, exhausted; the minibar was so expansive it defied the "mini" part of its name; the bathroom boasted a hot tub, a sauna, and the biggest shower Shepard had ever seen. Room service could be summoned at the touch of a button.

Shepard's meeting-worn body longed to relax in the hot tub, but for now she settled for the shower. As the water cascaded over her shoulders and through her hair, she was suddenly reminded of Garrus, a thought both welcome and unwelcome. She hadn't been able to satisfactorily explain to him why she was returning to Noveria—her cover story, of course, was about her formally taking possession of Binary Helix, but truthfully, it didn't have to be done on Noveria. Garrus was smart enough to know that something was up, and her evasion of his persistent questions had only raised more of them.

She felt a guilty twinge as she swept her fingers through her hair. Garrus…was important to her. Very important. After all that they'd been through together, their close friendship had quickly, naturally progressed into something more—much more. But despite the whirlwind nature of it all, Shepard had always held back just a little.

She knew that at some point, some point very soon, she would have to confront her split feelings. But for the moment, she stubbornly pushed the thought away. It was too early to make that decision. She just needed more time.

* * *

By the time Shepard finished a quick dinner, her hair was nearly dry and she was feeling much more relaxed, although it would take more than a wash and a meal to erase the stress of the day's politics.

She was tired, but the evening was still young; perfect time for that drink with Gianna. Shepard couldn't even remember the last time she'd had so much as a sip of alcohol—life had been too full of briefings and debriefings that required total sobriety. Now, though… "It's my shore leave, isn't it? Might as well make the most of it," she mused aloud, and then tapped the comm unit. It rang directly into Gianna's office, skipping all the pesky peons a non-Spectre would have to argue with before reaching to the administrator. Rank was a wonderful thing.

"Good evening, Commander. I see you're still on your feet after a day in the world of politics. Everything went smoothly, I trust?"

Shepard tried with little success to turn her grimace into a wry smile. "Some things never change. Board meetings will always be board meetings. I'm sure you understand."

"Do I ever. You ready for that beer? I know I am."

The two women agreed to meet at the hotel bar in half an hour. Shepard browsed the extranet for a while to pass the time; there were seventeen thousand, four hundred and eighty-three unread posts on the gardening messageboard that she frequented, and in no time at all she'd been sucked into a rousing discussion of the care and feeding of bonsai trees. Her own tree was still on the Normandy, under the care of Dr. Chakwas, the only person Shepard trusted enough for such a weighty responsibility. She'd left strict instructions for its care, including an admonition not to trim it, but she had a glum feeling that she'd return to find that Joker had shaped it into something crass.

She'd enjoy ripping him a new one for it, though.

The time flew and soon Shepard made her way downstairs to the bar. After a quick scan of the room, she decided Gianna wasn't there yet, so she seated herself at a hightop in a corner that afforded her a good view of the room. The lights were low and some alien electronic music hummed from hidden speakers; Shepard found herself absently tapping her feet along with the tune.

Gianna emerged from the elevator a few minutes later, and Shepard waved her over.

"Sorry I'm late," the administrator said as she seated herself. "The crises never end, do they? Sometimes it's like they want you to forcibly evict them from the office. Ugh."

"Did you prefer being an internal affairs agent?"

Gianna laughed. "Absolutely not. I had to deal with them then anyway, and I had to be all nice about it since I was playing secretary. Now at least I can tell them where to shove it most of the time. The pay's way better, too. Of course, I have to live on Noveria full-time now. Sometimes a change in weather would be nice."

Shepard reflexively glanced out the windows that were across the room. The snow still swirled past, less visible now that the sun had set but still as cheerful as ever. "I suppose so. I'm a big fan of the snow, personally. Although any kind of non-toxic atmosphere looks nice after you've been in space for three months straight."

"I bet."

A waiter came by to jot down their orders—a run-of-the-mill human beer for Shepard, a more exotic asari version for Gianna—and deposit a complimentary bottomless bowl of peanuts. At least, they appeared to be peanuts. After one bite, Shepard quickly decided they were a salty snack from some other species—but not a bad substitute.

"Ooh. Did you see that?" Gianna asked as soon as the waiter was out of earshot. "He _definitely_ checked you out." She quirked an eyebrow. Shepard let out a surprised laugh and glanced over at the young human taking an order at a nearby table.

"I didn't even notice. It's been too long since I interacted with normal people who weren't trying to either kill me or force me through another debriefing."

Gianna's grin was decidedly predatory as she leaned forward conspiratorially. "What do you think? If you're not interested, I'm liable to make a move."

"Nahh." Shepard leaned back, one corner of her mouth quirking up. "I'm attached, and anyway…he's not really my type."

"Oh? The first human Spectre has time for a boyfriend? Even _I_ don't have the time for a real relationship!"

"It's…kind of complicated," she admitted as the waiter returned with their drinks. She studiously avoided catching his eye. "Lately I've just been shuffled between meetings and buried under paperwork. I even had to get an apartment on the Citadel, so for once I've been spending a lot of time in one place. He's…pretty busy, too, though. We make some time whenever we can, even if it's just filling out forms in the same room."

"How romantic," Gianna observed dryly. "And here I thought life on the Citadel must be fabulously exciting. You know, I once had a boyfriend who—well, he didn't last long…"

Shepard listened with half an ear to the other woman's tale of woe, but her attention had been arrested by another figure at the far end of the room. Sitting by himself, nursing what appeared to be the turian version of a martini, was none other than Lorik Qui'in. He seemed to be people-watching by himself, his bright yellow eyes following the comings and goings. She wondered if he was unwinding or dirt-gathering, and if he would remember the invitation to sit and have a drink with him.

"…And of course, I told him that was a load of crap, and then he started getting violent so I had to restrain him. Too bad for him I'd been taking martial arts for seven years. Man, the look on his face was just _priceless!…_"

Lorik's eyes met hers. For a split second, her breath caught in her throat and she found herself frozen in place; then he inclined his head and raised his drink to her, and the world snapped back into focus. She reciprocated the nod, and then a noisy group of elcor shuffled between the two of them and the moment was broken. Gianna was still recounting tales of love interests past, apparently unaware of the exchange and oblivious to the fact that Shepard had hardly heard a word she'd said.

With some effort, she dragged her attention back to Gianna, and for the next half hour they swapped stories of old flames. Shepard managed not to look at Lorik too often, and for his part he appeared engrossed in his drink each time.

"Well," Gianna finally sighed, and drained the last of her second beer. "It's been great catching up with you, Commander, but unfortunately I still have work piling up in the office, calling my name."

"How well I understand. Good talking to you, and thanks again for the drinks."

Gianna nodded as she scrawled her signature across the electronic bill that the waiter had dropped off. "My pleasure. I'll see you around, and good luck with that boyfriend." A moment later, she was gone.

Shepard absently traced a meandering pattern into the condensation on her half-full mug of beer, suddenly feeling melancholy now that she was by herself again. Her thoughts wandered back to Garrus, as it seemed they always did eventually. The truth was, she'd been avoiding him lately—well, ever since she'd hatched the plan to bring Nihlus back. Their lack of free time had only made it easier, and when they did have time to relax, Garrus was usually too tired for anything that might constitute a real date. As one of C-Sec's top officers, he'd been in excellent shape, but even so, the Spectre training he'd applied for was a grueling program.

She had to admit, though, that physically demanding as it was, the turian seemed much happier now that he'd left C-Sec and thrown himself into his new purpose. There was little doubt in her mind that he would achieve his goal before long, even without her sponsorship.

"Why, Commander Shepard, you look like your spirits could use lifting. Perhaps I might buy you that drink I offered, if your current one is not pleasing you?"

Shepard smiled over her mug of beer, her thoughts of Garrus having vanished when she spotted the Synthetic Insights manager approaching at her table. "You know, Lorik…I think I would love to take you up on that offer."

* * *

The time was nearly 0300 when Shepard returned to her hotel room with Lorik as her escort. "I'd offer to walk you to your room, Commander, but I know from experience that you can take care of yourself, and I don't wish to offend you," he'd said when they finally left the bar.

"I appreciate that," had been her response with an only-slightly-tipsy laugh. "Why don't you walk with me anyway?" So he had. Now that they'd arrived, and their discussion of turian idioms had wound down, she turned back to him with a rueful smile.

"I suppose all good things must come to an end, at least for the moment. Thank you for the lovely time, Lorik. I haven't enjoyed myself quite so much in a while."

"It was my pleasure, Commander. I do hope this won't be the last we see of each other before your business here on Noveria is concluded."

Shepard's smile widened. "I wouldn't dream of it." On impulse she took his hand in hers and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. His mandibles twitched ever-so-slightly in surprise, and then his free hand brushed down her cheek and softly touched her hair.

"Good night, Shepard. And, as you say…sweet dreams."

* * *

But Shepard did not have sweet dreams. She had few dreams of any kind; she found herself unable to fall asleep, no matter how she tossed or turned in the enormous, empty-feeling bed. She counted sheep. She counted varren. She counted backwards from one hundred in turian (she was attempting to learn Garrus' language, and mostly failing miserably). She counted backwards from one thousand in english.

None of it was any use. Sleep stubbornly eluded her, and inevitably her thoughts drifted back to Garrus. And Nihlus. And Lorik Qui'in.

"Uuuahhhgh," she groaned into her pillow at 0456. "This is _so_ not fair." The pillow didn't answer. "Garrus is so passionate…Nihlus is equanimous, but subtly dangerous…like a…panther..." Having lived either on the streets or in space for most of her life, she'd never actually seen a panther, but it seemed like a good comparison. The romance novels that lived underneath her bed on the _Normandy_ would agree. "Lorik is charming and mature…" And to top it off, they were all excellent soldiers, one of the things that most piqued her interest in a man. Or turian.

She sighed, recalling Lorik's penchant for human phrases. Many turians, it seemed, were interested in human culture, but Lorik was far more fascinated by it than any others she'd met. He was even, somewhat to her embarrassment, better-versed in some parts of human history than she was. He also had quite a few words of sage advice for her regarding her management of Binary Helix.

Shepard wondered if she ought to offer him the position of her executor. He was an excellent businessman; his skillful manipulation of Anoleis was proof enough of that. And she could certainly pay him much more than he made as the manager of Synthetic Insights—not that she had any idea how much that was, of course. Whatever it was, she could top it. (She loved being a Spectre; a high salary was only one of her favorite perks.)

But then, of course, he would find out about Nihlus.

"What do I mean, he would _find out_? So what? I've been madly in love with Nihlus since the first time I saw him…I just flirted harmlessly with Lorik…it's not like we're married or anything. I have nothing to hide."

Except from Garrus. Shepard groaned again. Emotional problems were so annoying; she dealt much better with things that could be solved with an explosion or a bullet. _At least I don't have it as bad as Tali,_ she thought glumly. The revelation that Tali and Joker were dating had been as strange and unexpected as the wedding invitation from Kaidan and Liara. Shepard didn't envy the quarian—not only was she dating _Joker_, but they couldn't even touch each other and the pilot was chained to his chair or his crutches. _And_ they were an interspecies couple. At least Shepard only had to deal with last issue.

Truth be told, she had expected more resistance when she and Garrus began their official relationship. Aside from a few stares—mostly from older humans, unsurprisingly—when they went out together, they barely made a ripple. Even humanity as a whole hadn't been too alarmed.

"_You're the first human Spectre and you just saved the galaxy, Shepard. You could have a hanar prostitution ring in the cargo hold of the _Normandy _and nobody would bat an eye,_" Admiral Hackett had told her once when she'd brought the issue up. "_As long as they were of age, anyway."_

Shepard had to admit that that particular conversation hadn't really helped matters.


	3. In Which Shepard Receives A Shock

**Chapter Three: In Which Shepard Receives a Shock**

The beeping of the comm unit startled her awake, and in her haste to shut it off she fell out of bed and landed on the floor in a heap of disorientation and tangled sheets. Blearily she peered up at the clock perched on the nighstand. 1306. She couldn't be sure what time it had been when she'd finally drifted off, but she thought she'd gotten at least five hours of sleep in. Not exactly what she'd been hoping for on vacation, but she could survive on much less.

The comm continued its ringing as Shepard hastily extracted herself from the bedsheets. "I'm com-ingggg," she groused, wondering in annoyance who would be calling at such an early hour of the afternoon.

It was Rana Thanoptis. "Hello, Comm…ander…" Her greeting trailed off as she took in Shepard's mussed hair and the pillow imprint on one side of her face. "Um, I hope this isn't a bad time…"

"Oh. Oh, no, not at all," she replied airily, trying (and failing miserably) to discreetly to pat her bedhead into something more presentable. "No, I was just getting up anyway. What can I do for you?"

"Oh. Well." The scientist pressed bravely on, although she was clearly flustered by Shepard's less-than-professional appearance. "I wanted to update you on our progress with Mr. Kryik. We've moved him out of Cryo Storage and into the main lab, and in just a few hours we're going to begin the procedure. It'll take a while, but if all goes well—and it absolutely should—you'll be able to see him tomorrow."

Butterflies fluttered up in her stomach once more. Nihlus' piercing green eyes, those facial markings like the wings of some predatory bird…with a start, Shepard realized that she was staring off into space with a slightly silly grin on her face. She forced her attention back to Rana, who was watching her quizzically. "That's great news, Rana. Let me know when you start, I'd like to be kept up to date."

"Not a problem. I'll speak to you in a few hours, then."

Shepard tapped the disconnect after a polite good-bye, then collapsed back onto the bed, the smile remaining in place despite a jaw-cracking yawn. "I suppose I should probably round up some breakfast," she mused to her pillow, which remained silent as usual. Before food, though, she took another shower; she was determined to enjoy the novelty to the absolute fullest. The very thought of returning to the _Normandy's _meager facilities filled her with dread. At least her apartment on the Citadel had a proper shower stall, even if the water pressure was atrocious.

She soaked under the pounding water until her fingers felt like they were going to shrivel up and fall off, but finally she forced herself to turn the water off. While she was drying herself, she checked the gardening forum again and ran a search on turian ornamental plants. Garrus had never expressed any interest in keeping houseplants, but Lorik might appreciate a small flowering shrub. He seemed like he could be the type. Nihlus, on the other hand, was probably a connoisseur of fine galactic art. Half an hour later, she was quite dry and had completely forgotten about breakfast, busy instead with scouring an online art auction for rare and expensive paintings.

Fortunately for her bank accounts, nothing caught her eye ("Modern art these days!" she scoffed to herself), and before long she was moseying around Port Hanshan, searching for a café that wasn't outrageously expensive. She had to save money _somewhere,_ after all.

Outside, the weather was as inclement as ever, although the winds appeared to have died down for the moment. The snow was drifting down in fat clumps, settling in frosty banks against the expansive windows. Shepard found a bench in a secluded corner, tucked away next to a quiet fountain, and watched the snow as she ate one of the donuts she'd purchased at a coffee shop. _I'm Dreaming Of A White Christmas_ popped into her head, and she began absently humming the tune. She hadn't been expecting to enjoy the sights much even if she was on shore leave, but Noveria was proving to be more relaxing this time around. When she managed to forget about her emotional entanglements for five minutes, anyway.

For a moment, Shepard regretted her utter tone-deafness; if she could carry a tune in a bucket she would be inclined to at least whistle. She stuck with humming into her donut while she checked her e-mail on her omni-tool. Much to her chagrin, the two top messages were from Garrus. The next few were spam—"No, I _don't_ want to impress her in bed, thank you _very_ much, yeah sure you're a rich asari princess and you'd like to send me free money, does anyone seriously fall for this crap"—and then there was another from Garrus.

She sighed a little and, somewhat guiltily, opened the oldest message.

_My dear Commander,_

_I hope you're enjoying Noveria, and that the politics aren't driving you crazy. Everything's pretty quiet on the home front—can you explain that one to me? The extranet isn't helping me out very much with it. Anyway, I've been getting your mail for you like you asked, and there was one thing addressed to both of us. I hope you don't mind if I opened it. It was from Liara and Lieutenant Alenko—the twins are going to be six months old in a couple of weeks, apparently. They sent us an invitation to the party, although I'm pretty sure they don't expect us to actually come._

_I don't even know what to do with babies, so it's probably just as well._

Shepard suppressed a snicker. She could well imagine Garrus' befuddlement when presented with a wriggling, screaming bundle of drool—err, _joy._ She knew she'd have the same reaction, so she had to agree with Garrus' assessment of the situation. She did make a mental note to send each of the girls a present—perhaps one of her HMWP VII's, or an amp.

_I know it's your shore leave and all, but I miss you. The Citadel may be big, but it can be pretty lonely. I'll write again soon._

_Yours,_

_Garrus._

Shepard sniffed back a tear, suddenly ashamed to be gallivanting about the galaxy, consorting with other turians while her devoted boyfriend stayed at home and wrote sweet words to her. Perhaps she should just forget the whole thing—of course it was too late to halt Nihlus' resurrection, but she didn't have to stay. Her expertise wasn't needed at BH, and she could appoint an executor from the Citadel as well as she could from Noveria.

And after all, Nihlus may have been a panther, but Garrus was a lion. _Hmm. A lion? _She pondered the analogy. Did she really need to keep it in the cat family? Maybe he was more like a bloodhound. When he was on an investigation, nothing could distract him. _And boy do I mean _nothing_, _she thought with some annoyance. She'd learned from experience that few things would tempt him away from work when he'd thrown himself into it—and Shepard had pulled out all the stops on more than one occasion. _Typical obtuse man,_ she thought to herself grumpily, and then immediately felt bad about it. Garrus was a sensitive, fluffy romantic at heart. He just happened to have a tough layer of duty around it.

Lorik, on the other hand…she had to admit that he was probably not a closet romantic. A proper animal comparison escaped her, but that wasn't terribly important. He was certainly the more mature of the three turians—settled, stable, a perfect gentleman. Garrus could be a bit rough around the edges, and Nihlus was straight as an arrow—no mincing of words there.

"What am I doing," Shepard muttered to herself, despondently propping her chin in her hand and gazing out at the snowscape. "It's not like they're grav-cars to test-drive before deciding which one to buy." Nonetheless, she found herself wondering how Lorik would compare to Garrus or Nihlus in a firefight. Obviously the latter two, as career soldiers, would outclass him, but she could easily picture him holding his own with an assault rifle and omni-tool…perhaps in that lovely set of Colossus armor that she had stashed in storage back on the Citadel…

"You look troubled today, Commander. A penny for your thoughts?"

Shepard started, instinctively reaching for her pistol, but it was only Lorik Qui'in who was standing before her, a querying expression on his face. He was wearing a dark red suit. Suddenly her face felt hot.

"Are you all right, Shepard? Your cheeks are a quite vibrant pink. Is that normal?"

"Um, yes, I'm fine, thank you. It's just, uh, warm in here." She quickly closed her omni-tool display screen. Unbidden, the comparison that had escaped her just moments ago sprang to mind. Lorik Qui'in reminded her of a wolf, regal and proud but with a dangerous edge. She could feel the flush deepening as those obnoxious nerves rose up again.

"Indeed? I find it quite comfortable, but then we turians do prefer the warmer temperatures." There was a momentary, awkward silence. He trailed his fingers through the water that pooled at the base of the fountain, she examined her boots. It suddenly struck her that he might not be completely at ease either. After all, he might be an experienced businessman, but she killed people for a living. Legally. The thought emboldened her.

"Did you grow up on Palaven, Lorik?"

He looked surprised by the question, and for a moment he only watched the ripples his fingers made in the water. "Yes. I had a very unremarkable childhood, I'm afraid—nothing as exciting as yours, Commander. I lived in one of the bigger cities until I was old enough to join the military, and afterward I elected to pursue business. Quite a normal life, really."

Shepard raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Most normal people don't end up managing semi-legal artificial intelligence research companies on shady planets beyond the official reach of the Citadel."

"Why, you make me sound so intriguing," he rejoined dryly. "A lifetime of shrewd business maneuvers has brought me here, nothing more. Synthetic Insights is a company that is 'going places,' so to speak. I prefer to be on the cutting edge…as the one doing the cutting, and not the one being cut."

She noted with some amusement that he didn't even try to deny the questionable legality of Synthetic Insights' research. "Still, surely those business deals were an intense battle of negotiating skills, a heart-stopping race to see who could dig up the most dirt the fastest? Thrilling verbal fencing? Under-the-table deals taking place in dark, moldering alleys?"

Lorik chuckled, an oddly human sound that made Shepard grin in return. "You have a vivid imagination, Commander. I see that no matter how I deny it, you will always have an image of me making back-room deals with my business partners at gunpoint. I must stand by my assertion, however, that your profession is much more exciting than mine."

"Uh huh."

"You know," and he lowered himself onto the bench opposite her, "my wife used to say the same thing. She was always convinced that rivals from other companies would attempt to kidnap us in the night. We kept shotguns under the bed and pistols under our pillows. She thought everyone's life was as danger-filled as hers."

There was a moment of complete silence as Shepard stared blankly at him, her mind stuck on 'my wife' and barely comprehending the rest of the sentence. "Oh. That's…um…that's a great habit. For anyone." She searched her mind frantically for something else intelligent to say, if only to keep from blurting out, "You're _married?!_"

"Does she live on Noveria, too?" Well, it could have been worse. She could have broken down sobbing.

"No." He paused, and the previous humorous undertone was absent from his next words. "Unlike me, she decided to stay in the military after her first service. She was stationed aboard one of the ships destroyed during the Relay 314 incident."

"Ohh," Shepard said. "I'm sorry…"

Lorik raised a hand as if to forestall any further apologies. "Please do not feel the need to repent on behalf of your species for something that happened only a few years after you were born, Commander. Mistakes were made by both human and turian. I bear no ill-will."

"That's…a very generous outlook." Saren immediately came to mind; Shepard was too grimly familiar with how his brother had been killed in the First Contact War and how it had fueled his hatred for humans. Unfortunately, it wasn't the only story of its kind, either, although thankfully Saren's was the only one that had sparked a murderous quest to destroy all sentient life.

"Yes, I suppose so. To be truthful, for several years I carried a not insignificant amount of anger toward humanity. But as you have noticed, I am a very logical turian at heart. It was clear that humans were not wholly responsible for the tragedy, nor was the Hierarchy entirely blameless. In order to overcome my somewhat irrational feelings, I began to study mankind to better understand you. My fascination eventually overcame my anger. I have not forgotten her, of course. But there is no longer any strong connection in my mind between her death and your species."

"I see."

They sat in a silence that was somehow awkward and companionable at the same time, the gentle splash of the fountain their only company. Shepard found herself watching the snow again; the wind had picked up sometime during the conversation, and the flakes were blowing against the windows in great swirling gusts. The only thing missing from the scene was a fireplace to warm their hands by. She was most certainly not overly warm anymore.

"You seem to enjoy the weather here quite a bit more than most do, Shepard."

She nodded, relieved to be on safer ground. "I grew up in Miami—it's a pretty warm part of the planet. I never saw snow until my third year in the Corps. I guess it's still kind of a novelty to me—I never had a white Christmas, but I always wanted one. Guess I'm just trying to make up lost time."

"A…'white Christmas.' The term is familiar, but I can't recall the exact meaning. It is a part of a religion, is it not?"

"Uh…sort of. It's kind of hard to explain." Shepard thought for a moment, propping her chin on her hand once more. Lorik, consciously or otherwise, adopted the same pose, waiting for the forthcoming explanation. "Christmas is sort of a religious holiday. I mean, that's how it started, anyway. But eventually it also became an excuse to buy expensive things that you can't afford, wrap them up in colorful paper, and give them to other people. That's the idea, anyway. Usually it ends up being more about the getting than the giving. But it's in the winter, and for a lot of places in the United States that means it's snowing. That's the stereotypical image of Christmas…a pine tree decorated with ornaments, a blazing fire in a fireplace while the pretty snow falls outside, presents under the tree, and lots of quality time with your family."

Lorik nodded understandingly. "It sounds like a strange sort of celebration, but I imagine many turian traditions would seem similarly odd to you."

Shepard snorted a laugh. "No kidding." She could remember several occasions when Garrus had tried to explain various aspects of turian culture to her and usually failed. The extranet was often a better teacher than Garrus was—not that she blamed him. His attempts were valiant, but patience was not his strong point. She rarely fared any better when expounding on Earth's history and culture. They had eventually come to the mutual decision to consult books when they had questions, rather than each other.

The beeping of Shepard's comm cut Lorik off just as he was about to say something; she grimaced and mouthed an apology as she tapped it on. "Shepard."

"Commander, it's Rana Thanoptis. I wanted to give you an update on Mr. Kryik—we've just begun the revival process, and everything is going excellently. Would you like to observe? I can let Adelia know you're coming. Or, if not—well, it's a slow procedure, I'm afraid nothing really exciting will be happening for a few hours…"

"Ah, um, yes. Thank you, Rana. I'll be there shortly." She tapped the comm off again and turned back to Lorik. "I'm sorry, but business calls."

He waved dismissively. "Of course, Commander. No need to apologize; I understand all too well." He paused for a moment, and then added, "But if you truly feel as if you've slighted me, perhaps you could make up for it by agreeing to have dinner with me tonight."

A smile slowly spread across Shepard's face, and she stood up, extending her hand to shake on it. "Deal."

Lorik rose and took her hand, but instead of shaking it he brought it to his lips and brushed a turian kiss across her knuckles. Her figners tingled where his mandibles brushed them. "I look forward to it," he murmured, and Shepard felt the heat come back to her face in full force. "Until then, Commander."

* * *

A few minutes later, as Shepard stood beside Rana and looked through an observation window at the slowly-thawing body of Nihlus Kryik, she wondered what on Earth had possessed her to accept Lorik's invitation. To actually see Nihlus again after so long had made her hear skip a beat; though he was still and stiff, his powerful presence filled the room. The scientists bustling around, delicately attaching wires and monitors, seemed like insignificant worker drones compared to the somehow dignified turian.

Little of what Rana said made any impression on Shepard. She was seeing the future: her and Nihlus, the unstoppable Spectre team, battling crime and evil and annoying security officers, back-to-back, laying down cover fire for each other, hunting down and destroying the Reapers together…they would weather through the dark times, the hard fights, save each other in dark alleys and from the furthest corners of the Terminus systems…

"Commander?"

Shepard jumped. She suddenly realized that she'd been smiling dreamily through the window at Nihlus and possibly sighing happily. Clearing her throat in embarrassment, she turned to Rana. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Rana looked a bit unsettled, and her gaze darted nervously between Shepard and Nihlus. "Err, I was just asking if you were going to stay for the entire procedure." Her eye twitched. Shepard could only assume that either she intimidated the scientist (although why that might be, she couldn't imagine) or she was simply itching to get back to her subject.

"No, I have…other business to attend to today. But I want to know the minute he's awake."

Rana didn't bother to hide her sigh of relief. "Of course, of course. The very moment. If you'll excuse me, I should—" and she gestured almost frantically toward the door.

Shepard nodded. "I'll talk to you later, then." The asari fled the room, and Shepard resumed her contemplation of the turian before her. The thought occurred that, if Garrus attained his long-desired Spectrehood, it could very well be the two of them in the same future she'd been envisioning for Nihlus.

"Except Garrus doesn't wear Phantom," she muttered to herself. It was an important distinction.


	4. In Which Shepard Is Defeated By Her Hair

**Chapter Four: In Which Shepard Is Defeated By Her Hair**

When she returned to her room at the hotel, she tossed her pistol onto the coffee table and collapsed onto the bed, wrapping her arms around the pillow that always failed to answer her important questions. She buried her face in it and tried to think of things other than her love life. The birthday party invitation from Kaidan and Liara sprang to the front of her mind, and she frowned, trying to remember what they'd named the blue twins. She and Garrus had gotten a birth announcement in the mail, complete with pictures and fancily scripted lettering and a request to accept positions as godmother and godfather. ("Do you think they asked Wrex to be a godfather, too?" she'd snarked to Garrus.) The only thing she could recall, though, was that Kaidan had looked completely exhausted in the picture, and Liara had been caught mid-blink.

"I ought to find out so I can get their names engraved on those HMWP's," she informed the pillow. (It was a poor substitute for Garrus, softer though it may have been.) She thought the couple might have compromised and given one twin a human name and the other an asari name. There were probably a lot of asari out there with human, turian, or even salarian names. An Isabelle would fit right in.

"You know," and the pillow listened attentively, "maybe I shouldn't give them pistols just yet. I mean, it would just be a conversation piece until they were old enough to use it. Ten years is a long time for a pistol to not be used. Maybe I should knit them little sweaters instead." It had been a long time since Shepard had knit anything. She wasn't even sure if her knitting needles had made it onto the _Normandy._ Her yarn supply certainly hadn't. "Noveria probably doesn't sell knitting supplies. Too bad." She considered her other options. College funds were always a nice birthday present, or so she'd heard. It might make up for the time she'd blithely told Kaidan that, in her opinion, college was for sissies who couldn't make a living like a _real_ woman did—behind the sights of a sniper rifle.

She'd felt more than a little embarrassed when he'd tactfully informed her that he had a bachelor's in English.

Money was such an impersonal present, though. "When I was a year old, what did I want? To eat and sleep, probably. Hmm. Maybe I'll stick with the pistols. They can be heirlooms. Or maybe Kaidan and Liara can put them to good use. Wouldn't want their combat skills getting rusty."

Satisfied with her decision, Shepard snuggled closer to the pillow and began humming _I'll Be Home For Christmas._

_* * *_

Two hours later, Shepard was in a decidedly less cheerful mood. Her hair had decided that its new permanent state was "just rolled out of bed," and no amount of combing, pinning, or hairspraying could convince it otherwise. And she was meeting Lorik in just fifteen minutes. "So help me," she declared, brandishing a fistful of bobby pins at the mirror, "I _will_ shave you off if you don't begin behaving."

It was no use. She checked her watch: she'd been fighting with the hair for twenty minutes. "I could have trounced an entire platoon of krogan by now," she grumbled, finally throwing her hands in the air. "The Spectre who was defeated by her hair. Very heroic."

She left the bathroom, giving her hair one last annoyed fling over her shoulder, and faced her next challenge: the dress she'd so neatly laid out on the bed. It had been an impulse buy earlier that day, and she had required the assistance of the hanar salesbeing to get into it in the dressing room. Somehow she hadn't thought to take into consideration that she would later have to wrangle herself into it alone.

She took a deep breath and picked it up off the bed. "One leg at a time, and don't fall flat on your face," she muttered, and carefully stepped into the dress. It was a slinky red affair—perhaps _too_ slinky, she thought with a grimace, as she yanked it up over her hips and attempted to put her arms through the correct straps. "I _knew_ I should have gotten something strapless. What is this, a brain teaser? I'm no good at puzzles. Oof."

Several frustrating minutes later, Shepard had managed to get into the dress in a fashion that at least resembled the way it was intended to be worn, and had nearly thrown her back out trying to zip up the zipper. Still, she had to admit as she admired the result in the full-length mirror, the result was not half bad.

The hanar had tried its best to sell her a pair of very expensive, strappy black heels, but she'd drawn the line. If someone attacked, she'd be hard-pressed enough in a dress; forget three-inch stilettos. She'd opted for flat-soled, knee-high black lace-up boots instead, and the combination was, as she thought to herself, "kickass." To complete the outfit, she cinched a gun belt across her hips and holstered her slim civilian pistol in it.

The hanar had also suggested some very fancy diamond-laden jewelry. "Nice, but too glitzy," she'd said, and picked out a pair of tiny studs instead, some dark red alien gemstone that complimented the dress nicely. If she did say so herself. "Let it never be said that Commander Shepard lacks fashion sense," she said to the mirror with a wicked grin. "If I ever retire from Saving the Galaxy, I should start my own clothing line." She wouldn't be the first; at least one store on the Citadel carried a fashion line begun by a retired asari Spectre—it was where she'd gotten the sleek leather gun belt. "For all your deadly, high-class party needs," the tag had boasted.

Shepard never had liked the subtle approach to anything.

* * *

The restaurant was one of the most expensive in Port Hanshan, and despite her status and formal appearance, Shepard felt distinctly out of place. None of the staff so much as batted an eye at her pistol, although she did catch one male human waiter ogling her when she arrived. A raised eyebrow, pointed stare, and well-timed caress of her gun, and he turned pale and fled for the back of the restaurant.

The table reserved by Lorik was a private one, well away from the prying corporate eyes of the rest of Noveria, a fact for which Shepard was quite thankful. As much as she liked her outfit, the thought of pictures showing up in newsfeeds all over the galaxy was unappealing. The food was excellent, and Shepard was surprised to discover that Lorik was a vegetarian.

"Not for any moral qualms," he explained. "I simply find the taste of meat unappealing."

It was an idea that Shepard found hard to wrap her brain around, to say the least, but as long as he wasn't fazed by watching her enjoy her medium-rare steak, she didn't mind.

They remained at the restaurant long after the food was gone, slowly consuming separate bottles of wine and talking about their childhoods. Lorik told her what it was like to grow up in a household with five siblings; Shepard regaled him with stories of her gang days and how she would sneak out of her various foster homes. She found that he was fascinated with the unruliness she'd exhibited as a youngster; "Turian children are, as a rule, very well behaved," he informed her. He was especially amused by her description of TP'ing the houses of rival gang members.

"Do all human children lead such colorful, unstructured lives?" he asked over his curiously-shaped turian wineglass.

"No, I was a pretty rebellious kid. I never did anything really terrible—I mean, I may have broken into a couple cars, and one time we—" She paused in embarrassment. "Well, the whole gang broke all the windows in a liquor store and stole pretty much everything we could carry. Then we all got totally smashed. I think we ended up burning down a couple abandoned houses. Well, they were mostly abandoned—a bunch of squatters were living in them, but we gave them plenty of advance notice." She sipped her wine and reflected for a moment. "But most human kids, at least in the States, live pretty normal, crime-free lives. For a while, though, I thought everybody was a gang member. The idea of having a stable family was pretty foreign. I guess I kind of considered the gang to be my family, but we were all pretty dysfunctional."

"If the gang was your family, what compelled you to leave them for the armed forces?" Lorik inquired. Shepard shrugged and absently stroked her thumb across the condensation on her wineglass, unconsciously avoiding his eyes.

"When I was a teenager, fifteen or sixteen I guess, the gang started getting serious. Drug-dealing, drive-by shootings, that sort of thing. I went along with it at first, but I hated it and eventually I realized that my life was totally pointless—my only long-term goals were to stay alive and make some money in any illegal fashion that I could. Of course, I couldn't just up and leave—gangs don't work like that. And, uh, I kind of liked the adrenaline rush of being in a shootout. So joining the military seemed like a pretty obvious choice."

"And an excellent choice it was, it would appear. Both for yourself, and for the rest of the galaxy."

Shepard raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, officially, of course, I can't comment on how much good I've done the galaxy so far. Unofficially…I guess so. If I were some slumlord back on Earth right now, somebody else probably would have taken my role in that—business. I suppose it's just hard to say if there would be a human Spectre right now if it wasn't me. It's nice to think I'm some special, unique butterfly, but it's not like I'm the only good Marine out there." She shrugged and hastily downed the rest of her wine. "Man, this conversation got really depressing and deep all of a sudden. Let's talk about something else."

Lorik obliged, and for the rest of the evening they discussed human and turian house pets.

* * *

Shepard woke the next morning to the beeping of the comm again, and this time she could only grope blindly for the nearest object to hurl at the unit. Whatever it was impacted with a satisfying _thwock-crunch!_, and she then she groaned into her pillow, suddenly recalling that she'd put her pistol on the nightstand just before she'd dropped into bed. To make matters worse, she had a raging headache, and the comm continued to beep at her. Her face still buried safely away from the blinding light that was no doubt pouring through the window, she grabbed the second pillow and pulled it firmly over her ears.

Finally the muffled sound ceased, and Shepard sighed in relief. After a moment, the artificial voice of the comm announced that she had one unheard message from the office of Rana Thanoptis, Binary Helix, left at 0728.

"I hate mornings." Reluctantly, Shepard forced herself into a sitting position, squinting against the sunlight and rubbing her bleary eyes. At least it wasn't like some of the days she'd had at boot camp. She shuddered at the memory. At least debriefings weren't usually at 0300.

"Shepard," she muttered, "you're getting soft." Maybe she'd join Garrus in his pre-dawn workout sessions once she returned to the Citadel. The thought was hardly appealing, but…she grinned. Garrus would probably be very appreciative.

Ten minutes later, after she'd splashed some cold water on her face and pulled on some BDU's, she activated the message from Rana.

"Er, good morning, Commander. I was calling to let you know that Mr. Kryik is alive again. For the moment we have him in an induced coma, but very shortly we'll be waking—"

Shepard didn't hear the rest of the message. She had already snatched her pistol from the floor and rushed from the room.


	5. In Which Shepard Attends A Resurrection

**Chapter Five: In Which Shepard Attends A Resurrection**

It was a strange experience to see the turian Spectre lying in a hospital bed, clothed only in a hospital gown. Shepard stood next to him, feeling somehow humbled, and hesitantly reached out to touch his arm. It was warm and leathery, just as a properly alive turian's skin should be; his chest rose and fell, ever so slightly; every so often, his mandibles twitched as if he were dreaming. All around, the scientists and doctors moved about like the highly efficient professionals that they were, jotting notes on datapads and taking readings from strange medical instruments and occasionally injecting something into the IV line that ran down to disappear into the crook of his arm.

Shepard noted somewhere in the back of her mind how odd it was that turians and humans would have easily accessible veins in the same place.

At some point, a salarian had pulled a chair over to the bed and politely—for a salarian—invited her to utilize it. She strongly suspected that it was more to get her out of the way than out of any sense of manners.

"Eh, excuse me, good morning, Commander." She looked up to find Dr. Chorbis, an elderly salarian (nearing thirty-seven, if she recalled correctly), standing beside her, a large syringe in hand. "As you can see, everything is proceeding excellently. We are ready to wake him. Please be aware that he may be disoriented. I recommend that you step back, and be warned that if he reacts violently out of instinct our guards will attempt to forcibly subdue him. It would be appreciated if you could assist in any manner possible. A familiar face will be calming."

Shepard frowned, unconvinced that the ERCS guards stationed at the door could really be of use if Nihlus decided to eliminate the entire room, but nonetheless she rose and moved away a few steps to allow the doctor and his assistants to move freely. The salarian inserted the syringe into the IV. Shepard unconsciously held her breath. For several long moments, nothing appeared to happen; the monitors continued to put out what seemed to be the same readouts as before, and Nihlus' eyes remained closed. The room seemed to be frozen in anticipation.

Then Dr. Chorbis nodded to himself, muttering something that Shepard's translator didn't catch, and began furiously scribbling on his datapad. It was as if the spell was broken: the scientists' tense expressions melted into grins and congratulations, and more than one discreet high-five was had between the humans in the room. A quiet celebratory chatter filled the room.

Nihlus' eyes flickered open.

Shepard bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Mr. Kryik." It was Dr. Chorbis, holding a penlight and standing an arm's length away from the bed. "You are in a medical facility on Noveria. Can you tell me your date of birth, please."

The room was silent again, and Nihlus blinked several times, then turned his head to look at the salarian. Shepard saw the muscles in his arms tense and his fingers curled into a fist, and then the turian blinked once more and gazed past Dr. Chorbis to meet her eyes.

"Commander—" His voice was rough, the trademark turian undertone more a scratching sound than a purr. He coughed. "Commander Shepard."

She brushed past Chorbis, ignoring the doctor's muttered protestation. "Welcome back, Nihlus." The turian seemed to frown for a moment, gaze unfocused, and then his expression hardened. "_Saren._" It was followed by a string of profanities that was well-translated enough to turn Shepard's ears a blazing red. The ERCS guards shifted uneasily, tightening their grips on their assault rifles.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Nihlus. I know he was your friend." Shepard sat down in the chair once more, and for a moment she silently examined her clasped hands, unsure how best to proceed. "Before I tell you any more, you should know that, uh…well, quite some time has passed. You've missed a lot."

She met his eyes, the same fiery green that she remembered, glittering with anger and—uncertainty, she thought. She was becoming quite adept at reading turian facial expressions. He exhaled sharply. "Tell me everything, Shepard."

* * *

All things considered, it had actually gone fairly well, she thought as she sat in her hotel room's hot tub.

"Who am I kidding," she sighed, leaning her head back and glaring a the ceiling tiles. "It went horribly." Nihlus had been remarkably clear-headed for someone who'd been dead just the day before, but as Shepard had told the story—after clearing the room of scientists and all recording devices, something that took quite some time—he'd grown more and more stone-faced. He had said little, and asked few questions; after she'd finished, he had shaken his head and told her he required some time to think. His lack of reaction had been unsettling, to say the least.

"Not an unexpected outcome," Dr. Chorbis had told her afterward, quite shortly—she suspected he was still annoyed that she'd chased him from the room almost immediately following Nihlus' awakening. Or maybe it was just typical salarian annoyance. "If he feels the need to discuss his emotions with a stranger so he can feel better, there are many psychiatrists available on Noveria." Okay, _that_ was definitely sarcasm. Shepard had huffed, offended on Nihlus' behalf.

"Nihlus is a Spectre, not some screwed-up biochemist who's feeling guilty because he's doing highly illegal, dangerous research and needs a pat on the head. Nobody here would understand him."

"Of that, I am quite certain," Chorbis had shot back, and then Rana nervously inserted herself between the two of them, no doubt well-aware of the look that Shepard was getting in her eye. The same one she'd had back on Virmire. (Shepard thought she saw Rana shudder, just a little bit.)

"Of course, if Mr. Kryik doesn't wish to avail himself of the counselors here on Noveria, he's perfectly within his rights. But, um, it _is_ highly recommended that anyone who's undergone such—er, well, violent trauma and emotional shock, speak to someone. And really, this is such a highly unusual procedure—there's no precedent for his mental state. Ideally we would like to determine if he's stable."

Shepard couldn't really argue with that. But somehow she highly doubted that Nihlus would go for it. She tried to picture the turian reclining on a couch in a therapist's office, talking about his relationship with his mother, while a sympathetic asari nodded and murmured and jotted down notes.

"Or…" Rana continued, clearly seeing from the half-horrified, half-amused look on Shepard's face that psychiatry was probably not an option, "perhaps, as a fellow Spectre, you'd be the best person to evaluate him? I'm sure he'd be more inclined to listen to your words than any of ours."

Shepard had agreed to that. It wasn't like she hadn't been planning to spend lots of time with him anyway.

Now, though, she sunk further down into the tub and wondered if she was qualified to help Nihlus. "I've never been dead before, after all." She absently swirled a pattern into a nearby mound of bubbles. (Foaming bath soap plus hot tub? Oh yes.) She'd had a rough childhood, it was true (according to everyone else, anyway—she still didn't see what the big deal was), and then there was that business where her entire unit had been eaten by giant poisonous space worms…and then she'd been forced to leave a friend to die in a fiery nuclear explosion while trying to save the galaxy from evil sentient machines. "I should be a lot more screwed up than I am," she declared to the bubbles.

She felt pretty normal, though.

* * *

When she emerged from the tub, her omni-tool was blinking at her that she had new messages, and she realized with a guilty start that she'd never read the rest of Garrus' e-mails. Reluctantly she opened the interface and tapped her messages open: two new, both from him. She opened the most recent.

_ Shepard,_

_Since the sale was ending today and you didn't get back to me, I went ahead and bought the "strawberry" flavored ones. I also got several frozen pizzas—ham and pineapple, your favorite. The kitchen sink broke, so the keepers have been all over the place and I've gotten almost no sleep; I've never heard such noisy keepers before in my life. They also insisted that the gun case be moved out of the front hallway, so I put it in the bedroom, except for your shotgun. I left that in the coat closet. I also called Lieutenant Alenko and let him know we couldn't attend the party, and he asked when we were going to have children. I think he was joking, but I'm not sure. I told him we were too busy. He seemed to think that was funny, although I'm not sure why. I must say that I still don't get human humor very well._

_How is your leave going? I hope you're not as lonely as I am. _

_I'm sure you're busy, but write back soon._

_Yours,_

_Garrus_

Shepard smiled despite herself. To her great surprise, Garrus had become quite domestic. She would never have thought that the hot-headed police officer would take such pleasure in a simple thing like grocery shopping or cooking. He wasn't very good at the latter, but she supposed it was the thought that counted. And besides, even his paltry skills far outstripped hers. The last time she tried to make a simple pasta dish, the water had boiled over, she'd forgotten the salt, the pasta ended up mushy, and the jar of sauce exploded in the microwave.

"You're supposed to take the lid off first, _cicer_," Garrus had gently admonished.

"I didn't _know,_" she had protested in reply, but she couldn't be that annoyed. She never could be when he called her _cicer_. The translator turned it into something approximating "chickpea," but Garrus had assured her that its connotations were much more romantic and that it was a completely appropriate pet name for turians.

Resolute, she tapped the "reply" tab. "Now, how to start." An apology for ignoring him for three days? As if nothing was out of the ordinary? With a confession that she was falling for other turians?

She groaned. The omni-tool, ever-helpful, transcribed it into the empty message. _Nnnnnnn._ "Thanks a lot," she said, and manually deleted it.

"Garrus. No…start over. Dear Garrus, thanks for stocking up on human food for me. I'm sure the gun case is fine where you put it, and I hope the keepers let you get your beauty sleep tonight. Not that you really need it. No, erase last sentence." Too mushy. She was never mushy. Garrus would know something was wrong.

The door chime sounded, the unexpected noise startling her. She looked down at herself, still undressed from her soak in the hot tub, and quickly tapped off the omni-tool screen. "Just a minute!" she called, although she doubted her voice could be heard on the other side of the door, and scrambled for the closest to throw on her BDUs and then grab her pistol from the coffee table.

The small screen on the back of the door had come to life, and it provided her with three views of the being ringing the chime. Her breath caught. It was Nihlus. And he was wearing his Phantom armor. Shepard felt her knees weaken.

He reached for the door chime again, and she put her hand on the lockpad. The door slid open.

"Nihlus," she greeted, as smoothly as possible, although her attempt to sound as though she weren't about to swoon failed miserably. Even though he was clearly in a weakened state, he moved as gracefully as ever. She attempted to ban the panther comparison from her mind.

"Commander." There was a brief moment of awkward silence, and then Shepard stepped aside.

"Please, come in. How are you feeling?"

Nihlus slowly paced down the hallway and into the living room, Shepard trailing behind. The turian seemed to be measuring his words carefully before speaking.

"It is…a curious thing. These Reapers…and Saren…" He suddenly turned to face her. She had to stop abruptly to keep from banging into him. "I am infuriated by my carelessness on Eden Prime. To think that I was taken down so easily…" His mandibles spasmed, and Shepard noticed that he kept his left hand on his pistol, not as if to draw it but almost as if to reassure himself that it was there.

Then he took a deep breath, and half turned back toward the window that looked out into the Aleutsk Valley. He continued in a less strained tone. "But I must say, Commander, I am pleased that you met my expectations—and more. Few Spectres have such a great accomplishment for their first mission. I only wish I would have been there to support you. Perhaps the council would not have been so blind, and so many lives needlessly lost." He faced her again, but his gaze seemed to drift somewhere past her shoulder. "And although I am glad that Saren freed himself of…indoctrination at the end…"

Shepard nodded, although try as she might, she had a hard time envisioning Saren as anything but the vitriolic human-hater that she'd argued and fought with. How someone as excellent as Nihlus had ever resulted from Saren's mentoring, she would never understand. "I suppose that, in his own twisted way, he was doing what he thought best. Although I wonder if even that thought was his own."

Nihlus exhaled slowly, his expression thoughtful. "We will never know, I suppose. Perhaps it is better that way. I…prefer to remember him as I knew him." Then he shook his head and refocused his brilliant eyes on Shepard's. "I came here to thank you, Shepard. I understand you went through quite a legal ordeal to come into possession of Binary Helix."

The sudden blush that was becoming a standard part of Shepard's day suddenly flared to life again. She cleared her throat. "Yes. Well, I…you deserved better. And I owed you one."

"Indeed." Nihlus' tone turned amused. "I am not as familiar with human mannerisms as some turians are, but I believe that a reddening of the face signifies embarrassment. Might I inquire as to the cause?"

Shepard clapped a hand to her flaming cheek, mortified. "I, uh—well—there was more to it than that, I guess..." she mumbled.

"Perhaps you would like to explain further over some lunch? Apparently, being dead for quite some time leaves one very hungry." His eyes seemed to gleam slyly, and Shepard laughed despite herself.

"All right, you caught me. I just wanted a date. Mission accomplished!" And she patted herself on the back.


	6. In Which Shepard Behaves Bizarrely

**Chapter 6: In Which Shepard Behaves Bizarrely**

"Bleuuugh," Shepard groaned into her pillow. She was _definitely_ going to join Garrus' early-morning workouts one she'd gotten off Noveria. With as much as she was eating on this vacation, she was afraid she would return to the Citadel fifteen pounds heavier. She lifted an arm and peered at it, then shook it experimentally. Nothing jiggled too badly, so at least she hadn't lost all of her tone yet.

Suffice it to say that lunch with Nihlus had been long and filled with constant eating. When he'd said that being dead left him with quite the appetite, he hadn't been joking in the slightest. Shepard felt it was only good manners to keep up with him.

"Why did I have _three_ desserts?" she wondered. _Because they were so good._ And she hadn't wanted to end their conversation about hanar art and music. And elcor literature. Nihlus had been quite interested to hear about Francis Kitt's elcor _Hamlet._

"I must say that I'm not terribly fond of your Shakespeare," he'd admitted, "but I find some of his themes interesting. And elcor performances are a fascinating affair."

Shepard then had to confess that she hated plays as a general rule, but the turian hadn't seemed offended. "I suppose it does take a certain kind," was all he'd said, and then they'd moved on to hanar religious music.

Shepard smiled into her pillow. Somehow, once they'd left the restaurant, the discussion had turned to hair. Nihlus had, as did many aliens, a difficult time comprehending it. "It simply _grows_ from your head?"

"Yes…well, actually, humans have hair all over their bodies. It's just not that visible." She'd offered him her arm, and he'd examined the fine blond hairs. His fingers were warm and strong, and his soft breath tickled across her skin. She'd inhaled sharply, and he looked up.

"Is it painful?"

"Oh. Oh no. It's just…ah…" and she'd noticed just how _green_ his eyes were up close, and suddenly she was dizzy and his fingers were sliding through her hair and down the back of her neck and—

Well, that was when she'd thought of Garrus. It had been supremely awkward, to say the least. She'd turned bright red—_again_—and, after stuttering out a hasty apology, fled to her room. She'd flung herself on the bed and clutched her pillow tightly, burying her hot face in it and despondently wondering if Nihlus now thought she was somewhat unhinged. She'd half-expected the turian to bang on the door, demanding an explanation for her bizarre behavior, but there had been nothing but silence in the following minutes. She even thought she might have drifted off into sleep for a brief time.

With another groan, Shepard forced herself into a sitting position and squinted at the window. The daylight was fading from a sky that was, for once, snow-free. The clock on the night-stand slowly blinked 1708. She smothered a yawn and reluctantly swung her legs of the edge of the bed, no longer able to face the reality that she really, truly needed to send Garrus some indication that she still lived. And was most certainly _not_ making out with other turians.

She went to the bathroom and splashed a little cold water on her face, just to take off the warmth that had crept back in with the memory of the—_incident_, and then opened her omni-tool interface. She brought up the unfinished letter and pondered it for a moment.

"Replace 'Dear Garrus' with '_Cicer_.'" The omni-tool complied. It was used to her sprinkling turian words through her e-mails. "Continue message. Noveria has been pretty much the same as last time—snowy and political. Be glad you aren't here, I know you don't like the cold. Or the red tape." She bit her lip, absently, in the same place where she'd drawn blood when Nihlus first woke, and she squeaked at the unexpected pain. "No, no. Erase last." Garrus would definitely be concerned if she sent him an e-mail with an "aiee!" in the middle of an otherwise unremarkable message. Sometimes, she thought with a mental sigh, her omni-tool was too smart. One day, perhaps all omni-tools would rise up and rebel against their organic masters, then run off to join their geth cousins…

"Don't be silly. Omni-tools can't run anywhere. They don't have legs." She drummed her fingers against the cool stone countertop. "Thanks for taking care of the party invitation from Kaidan and Liara. And good response to the question about kids. Really, I think he just wants to share the pain with somebody. " She paused and nibbled on her thumbnail thoughtfully. "Anyway, I'll be home before you know it. Oh, and if the ice cream is cheap, could you get me some double chocolate chunk? Thanks. Shepard."

Satisfied, she tapped the "send" tab and then promptly realized that she hadn't deleted her musing about omni-tools running away on their nonexistent legs. "Oh well," she sighed. "He can just ask me about it in his next letter, I guess." It wasn't a rare occurrence anyway. He was probably used to it.

* * *

For the next few hours, she tried to distract herself on the extranet—an easy-enough task, she'd always found, although sometimes she came across things she would rather not have _ever_ thought about. It hadn't been long after the destruction of Sovereign and her ascension to celebrity status that she'd learned not to read anything about herself online. She didn't usually have the time anyway, of course, but it had only taken a few wrong clicks to lead to some very sleepless, horrified nights.

The gardening forum, however, was a safe enough space, and she whiled away the time by reading up on the fascinating history of domesticated Tuchankan man-catchers, a plant that few dared to keep in their gardens despite its considerable rugged beauty. The forum also had a variety of off-topic boards, and Shepard made a spur-of-the-moment decision to post a request for relationship advice. She'd become a well-known name on the board, mostly due to her extensive knowledge of traditional turian bonsai tree forms (although the turians had a very different name for it, of course). Within minutes, a slew of responses had been posted, ranging from "have u tryed an asari, I here there good for a fling" to "I'm really concerned about you, spectregurl15! Last I heard, you were happy with your boyfriend. Sounds like you should just sit down nad tell him everything."

"That's no help," she told the screen. "I _know _I should." Then there was "wnsmom," who suggested she should get pregnant. Shepard wasn't sure how that would help matters, and she dashed off a quick reply of, "What would I do with a baby? Eat it? MREs taste better and I don't have to grow them myself—" which got her a warning from a moderator.

_Sorry,_ she responded, _I just get a little touchy around the kids subject. We can't. :( _ She neglected to mention it was because they were genetically incompatible, but they didn't need to know that. In any case, it soothed the ruffled feathers and generated a spate of sympathetic comments. Shepard also didn't mention that she wouldn't want a baby if it magically appeared on her doorstep. They didn't need to know that, either.

The door chime interrupted her as she was in the middle of writing another detailed post about her woes. She looked over at the door, nerves fluttering up again, and contemplated not answering it.

"Oh, buck up, Shepard," she finally said, shutting off the extranet and rising resolutely. "You faced down hordes of stampeding krogan. You can handle this." And she went to the door, squared her jaw, and palmed it open.

"Commander."

"Nihlus."

There was a momentary silence where they both avoided looking at each other, and then Shepard forced herself to look up at him.

"I—"

"No, Shepard, I must apologize. It was not my intent to—offend you. I regret that I caused you such discomfort—"

"You didn't." They both stopped abruptly, and Shepard grimaced. "Look, um…the truth is, I was most definitely _not_ offended. And it was pretty rude of me to just run off like that. I just…" She trailed off, no longer remembering what she'd planned to say, as Nihlus gently cupped her face in his hands. His thumb stroked over her cheek and sent tingles all the way down her spine.

"Then…would you be averse to resuming the conversation?"

She could hardly even remember why she'd run away in the first place.

* * *

The _conversation_ eventually wound down with them both lounging beside the coffee table, cleaning Shepard's HMW weapons and discussing the finer points of incendiary rounds. For the first time since her leave had begun, she felt totally at ease. There were no businessbeings hounding her to sign fifteen different forms, no admirals making "suggestions" about her next mission, no reporters to make her want to tear out her hair (the hair which Nihlus could hardly keep his hands out of). They were just two soldiers, shooting the breeze. And doing shots. The minibar was so convenient. Shepard had sampled nearly every human beverage available in the refrigerator, and a few of the turian ones as well; Nihlus had returned the gesture by taking a whiff of vodka and then nearly dropping the glass in disgust.

"Not my favorite either," Shepard had said with a grin, and then poured herself some whiskey instead. Maybe it was just the alcohol that was soothing her previously frayed nerves, but now that she and Nihlus had acknowledged the magnetic attraction between the two of them, she wondered why she'd been so jittery in the first place. She suspected that the turian felt the same way, at least in part. He seemed to have lost some of the jumpiness that had been following him around ever since he'd awakened.

Or maybe that was the alcohol, too. Before too long they were telling embarrassing stories from boot camp and laughing at everything (although, even somewhat inebriated, Nihlus had a very dignified chuckle, whereas Shepard tended toward a hysterical cackle). At some point, they agreed to put the guns away—"Even if we _are_ trained professionals," she'd said firmly, and then they started talking politics and Shepard asked him who he was planning to vote for in the Council election.

"I thought—what is it? 'Politics and religion are two subjects never to discuss,' isn't that the saying?"

"Well, yes," she admitted, "but Udina's such a smug bastard that I don't believe anyone with half a brain would vote for him. And you know Captain Anderson's a bang-up guy, right? So…I don't even know why I asked."

Nihlus looked at her questioningly. "'Bang-up?' That sounds like it should be an insult, not a compliment. Although you are quite correct. At the very least, I respect Captain Anderson as a fellow soldier and someone who supported you during your mission to—" he only hesitated for a moment, "bring down Saren."

"Yeah, he's not afraid to stand up for doing the right thing when the chips are down. Man. I don't even know where half of these sayings come from. I think that one's from poker or something…I don't really gamble…"

"Except with your life," Nihlus finished, and they both laughed. "It's the best way to gamble, anyway," she added. "Sitting around a table and throwing down cards isn't really my idea of exciting."

"Nor mine." And they both drank to it.

* * *

Morning came obnoxiously early and bright, the sun shining with infuriating cheerfulness through the still-snowless sky. The light reflecting off the brilliant white snowbanks made the scene especially dazzling. Shepard found it hard to appreciate the beauty of it all when it was shining straight into her just-opened eyes.

"Uuuuurgh," she said, an utterance that was becoming more and more frequent. Squinting futilely, she groped blindly for her friendly pillow, only to find that she was on the couch, slumped against a reposing turian. She froze in sudden alarm and tried desperately to remember the previous night.

Then she looked down and found herself still fully clothed, and some of her fears subsided. She peered over at Nihlus. He was snoring lightly, and also fully clothed.

"Whew." She started to get up and was immediately arrested by the blinding pain that stabbed behind her eyes, and she groaned again and clutched her head. Staying in one place and possibly having another shot of something sounded pretty good. She felt around for the coffee table. Surely at least _one _bottle of something was still there.

It was there, all right. But not for long, because she promptly knocked it onto the floor where it shattered with a _crash!_ that immediately did wonders for her headache. She squeaked and slumped further down into the plush couch, and next to her she felt Nihlus jump.

"Sorry," she muttered. The turian sat up, or at least she assumed that was what he did, since she had squeezed her eyes shut and was concentrating on not throwing up. For a moment there was blessed silence.

"Commander, are you—"

She bolted for the bathroom. Truthfully, it was more of a lurching hobble than a run, but she managed to get there in time. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt immensely grateful that she'd put her hair in a ponytail at some point before falling asleep. She was also quite thankful that Nihlus didn't venture into the bathroom to find out what, exactly, was wrong with her. _Stupid turians and their not getting hungover._ She remembered especially well how Garrus had been baffled the first time she'd explained hangover "cures" to him.

"_Sometimes human C-Sec officers would come in sick in the morning and joking about—dog hairs, I think, but I never really knew what they were talking about. If it made them feel so ill, why did they keep doing it?"_

Shepard sighed and rested her head against the nearby countertop, feeling only marginally better. She wondered what Garrus was doing at that very moment. The time difference between the Citadel and Port Hanshan was only a few hours, with the Citadel behind, so he was probably warming up for his morning run. Stretching in his workout gear…the thought occurred to her that Garrus was taller than Nihlus by a good two inches.

"Ugh. Stop that." _Why does life have to be so hard?_ It was a slightly petulant thought, she had to admit. Most people would consider this dilemma a small hiccup amongst mountains of upheaval and danger and Saving the Galaxy. Maybe she needed therapy. It _was_ provided by the Citadel as a free service for Spectres…she'd never spoken to one of the psychiatrists herself, but she'd managed to talk Garrus into a session to hammer out some of his father issues. (It hadn't been free for him, of course, but Shepard had been happy to pay the bill.) The very next day, he'd reapplied for Spectre training, and since then he'd been almost a different turian. In fact, after that it had mostly been _her_ complaining about red tape and bureaucrats, and Garrus making sympathetic noises. It hadn't taken him long to suggest that she retire from the Marine Corps and continue solely as a Spectre.

Then she'd tried to explain "_Semper Fi,_" which he hadn't completely understood, but the conversation must have made apparent to him that she was a Marine for life, because he never brought it up again. There were times, however, especially in the middle of six-hour interrogations—_meetings_—when she seriously considered it. (Or, even worse—she shuddered at the thought—formal parties with Politics and Important People.)

She sighed once more and, with Herculean effort, hauled herself to her feet.

When she emerged from the bathroom, having dunked her head into a sinkful of cold water and brushed her teeth, Nihlus had cleared the coffee table of half-empty liquor bottles and appeared to be hunting in the kitchen for something with which to clean up the broken glass.

"Crap. Umm, sorry about that…" She grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom cabinet and began gingerly sopping up what appeared to have been a quarter bottle of volus wine. Nihlus appeared at her side, a small vacuum in his hand.

"I have had much ruder awakenings, Shepard. Usually followed shortly by firefights. This is a change for the better, believe me."

She grinned at him despite the still-present throbbing in her head. "Me too, actually. Most of the time I wake up to the sound of Captain Anderson forcibly overriding my apartment's comm system and yelling at me for being late to getting chewed out some more."

Nihlus _hmmm_'d and vacuumed up the remaining glass shards. "I must say that I find it most…interesting that the Alliance seems so bent on hampering its best operatives. Yet, despite all your self-imposed handicaps, humanity has made such great strides in such little time. It is hardly any wonder that you intimidate the galactic community, Commander. Your race is a fearsome thing to behold."

Shepard rocked back on her heels and raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure there was a compliment in there somewhere."

The turian copied her pose and inclined his head. "Indeed. You yourself are the embodiment of everything we admire and fear in humanity. Consider how a mercenary feels when he sees you bearing down on him, intent on reaching your goal even if it means you must bludgeon him to death with your shotgun. That is how the other races, perhaps most of all the asari, see humans."

"Yeah." She nodded in satisfaction. "Definitely a compliment." A somewhat poetic one, even. Shepard had never been big on that sort of thing, but coming from Nihlus, it gave her a warm feeling. _Almost…glowy. Stop smiling at him so sappily._ "I suppose I see what you mean, though. We're sort of like bulldogs. Grab onto the nose and don't let go, no matter how hard we get flung around." She shrugged. "Generally, anyway. There's always a couple spineless idiots around, usually in the really important positions."

Nihlus chuckled. "That is one thing that crosses species well enough, I believe."

By some unspoken agreement, they both rose to their feet. Shepard gave the room a once-over and, satisfied that nothing too expensive was broken or otherwise irreparably damaged, turned back to Nihlus. "Thanks for helping with cleanup. And for the compliment. That was one of the nicest things anybody's ever said about me."

"I very much doubt that, Shepard." Then he was very close again, and even though it was probably too early for that sort of thing, her heart skipped a beat and she couldn't help but notice once more how impressive he was up close. "There are quite a lot of nice things to be said."


	7. In Which Shepard Receives An SOS

**Chapter 7: In Which Shepard Receives An SOS**

Later, she invited Nihlus to brunch, but he declined. "Unfortunately, I must now share your pain in paperwork. Reversing a legal status of 'deceased' is no mean feat, it would appear. The council is also quite keen to speak with me, and I must begin making arrangements to return to the Citadel."

"Well, I can't help with the paperwork, but I can give you a ride back. My leave's up in a couple of days anyway…the _Normandy_'s running a pretty light crew. Plenty of room." He'd readily agreed_._

For the first time since she'd arrived on Noveria, Shepard decided to eat in. She hadn't exhausted Port Hanshan's selection of restaurants yet, but the list of unvisited establishments was growing smaller. It was high time to check out the room service at the hotel.

The menu was replete with all kinds of human foods, as she'd come to expect from Noveria, and several dishes which were colonial in origin. She picked something from Terra Nova's section—some kind of native herd animal, with an assortment of equally native seasonings that sounded delicious. It was expensive, so it couldn't be too bad.

The menu VI helpfully offered a list of suggested wines, from both Earth and Terra Nova, but Shepard regretfully ordered expensive water instead. She still had some of her morning hangover. "If I keep drinking like this, I'm going to turn into an alcoholic. A broke one." She would hate to wind up like Harkin, after all, such a loser that all she could do was get smashed in strip clubs and hit on passing Spectre-wannabes.

She made a disgusted sound at the thought of Harkin. What a waste of space. She almost wished he'd kept it up with the "princess" business so she _could_ have knocked his teeth out. It would have been so satisfying. _Lecherous old creep._ Somehow, it seemed like she always drew the jerks, especially at bars.

"Do I have a giant flashing sign above my head that says, '_Hit on me, I just _love_ it?'"_ she muttered, recalling one time just after basic training when she'd gone out to celebrate and ended up breaking a persistent drunk's kneecaps in the parking lot. At least she didn't get it as much any more now that she was a Spectre. The "Don't have time to put up with your lewd comments, on a mission to save the known galaxy" attitude usually did the trick. Even when she was doing nothing more special than grocery shopping. Although she usually went grocery shopping with Garrus, and ended up riding the cart up and down the aisles while he actually acquired the items. It had gotten to the point where he sometimes refused to let her have the cart at all.

"I'm surprised you didn't get your fill of careening recklessly when you were driving the Mako around," he'd said pointedly. She pouted.

"Insulting my driving? I'll have you know I've never gotten _one_ citation."

"Because the only beings left where you drive are insane rachni or thorian creepers, and there's no one to hear the screams of your passengers."

He'd won that one, even over her mumbled rejoinder of, "You guys didn't scream _that_ much..."

Garrus. It reminded her that she hadn't checked her e-mail to see if he'd responded to the brief message she'd sent the day before.. She felt a little bad about how curt it had been, but she _had_ been a little distracted. And her nonsensical diversion into omni-tool sentience would make him smile. Or at least roll his eyes. (She'd been inordinately pleased when he'd picked up the all-too-human habit of eyerolling. He never could pull off the petulant face she so often made at the same time, but it was a start.)

With a sigh, she reached for her omni-tool, only to be interrupted by the chime that signified room service's arrival. She rolled out of bed, stretched mightily, and ambled to the door.

"Good afternoon, Spectre," she was perkily greeted by the impeccably-dressed young asari, who wheeled a cart into the suite. Shepard trailed behind, sniffing appreciatively at the steam rising from the silver-domed dishes. In a few short minutes, the asari had efficiently converted the cart into a formal table, complete with spotless white tablecloth, shining utensils, and a glass filled with—

She peered closely at it. Yes, they _were_ mass-relay-shaped ice cubes. She looked up to see the asari suppressing a grin. "Enjoy, Spectre."

The food tasted as fabulous as it smelled, and although the mass relay ice cubes melted into unrecognizable lumps in a matter of seconds, she certainly appreciated the futile artistry behind them.

The sharp, persistent beeping of the comm interrupted the last bite of the meal. She sighed and looked from the loaded fork to the comm, then resolutely stuffed it in. Anyone rude enough to call at—err—lunchtime would just have to deal with her chewing.

But it was Lorik, and he looked ruffled enough that she hastily choked down the mouthful. "Good afternoon, Commander. I hope you the day finds you in better straits than I."

She straightened, all thoughts of lunch gone. "What do you need?" Her trigger finger itched.

Lorik's mandibles twitched and he appeared to be considering his words carefully. "A delicate situation has developed, and I wonder if you might lend your—considerable expertise to the matter."

"I take it this is a request for military action, not a cleverly disguised invitation to dinner?" she sighed, affecting a hurt expression, although the promise of violently-solved problems was definitely appealing. Sitting around and eating was all well and good, but after a few days, she was ready to get moving again.

Lorik chuckled despite the apparent gravity of his predicament. "I'm afraid so, Shepard." He paused, and then continued in a more reluctant tone. "A joint project between Synthetic Insights and Binary Helix at Peak 15 has gone, as you say, 'haywire.'"

"It's always Peak 15," Shepard responded dryly. "Give me a rundown of the situation."

The sound of rapid gunfire echoed over the comm, and Lorik briefly disappeared off the screen. When he returned, he had an assault rifle in one hand and was prepping a tech mine with the other. "Perhaps it would be better if you left immediately. I can explain the details when you arrive."

"Got it." Shepard was already running down a mental list of the gear that she'd brought with her. "I'll be there ASAP." She paused. "Be careful."

"Don't worry, Commander. I have every intention of remaining alive. I will see you soon." The screen went blank. She was already tapping out the number for the Administrator's office.

"Gianna, I need to request some transportation..."

* * *

Nihlus was taking an exceptionally long time to come to the door of his hotel room. Shepard tapped her foot impatiently and rechecked her armor's shield mods again. Four days in storage was long enough for something to go horribly wrong on such sophisticated pieces of equipment. _Never mind that it holds up fine in a three-hour firefight…accidentally drop it and _bam_, four things pop off._

The door opened, and Nihlus greeted her with an appraising eye and, "What's the situation?" He already had a shotgun in hand and, just beyond him in the hallway, Shepard could see his Phantom armor ready to be put on.

"Something's going on at Peak 15. I couldn't get any specifics, but there are definitely hostiles present. Some kind of joint project between Binary Helix and Synthetic Insights has gone badly, apparently. That's all I know. Parasini's got a shuttle prepping, and it'll be ready to leave in a couple minutes. You in?"

Nihlus rumbled, a uniquely turian sound that Shepard had come to recognize as a sign that he was inordinately pleased. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Shepard."

* * *

"The skies are still clear, so it should be a short, smooth ride." Gianna tapped an access code into the shuttle's hatch control panel, and the door slid open. "All the clearance keys are in there, so you shouldn't have any problems landing on the roof. I rounded up a couple of ERCS guards to go with you, but until we know more about the situation, I can't send anyone else."

"I understand," Shepard said, and absently stroked her pistol. The weight of her armor and all her guns felt good, even if the torso plates of her Mercenary fit a bit snugger than they did before she'd landed on Noveria. She glanced at Nihlus. He was restless—no surprise there. The pent-up energy was practically rolling off of him in waves. It made her itchy. She consciously forced herself to take her hand off her pistol.

"That them?" She nodded toward a trio of guards who were approaching with what appeared to be trepidation.

Gianna sighed somewhat sympathetically. "Yep. Don't know if they'll actually hit anything with those rifles, but if all else fails they can distract your enemy when they run away screaming."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. Gianna shrugged. "I'm being facetious, of course. They know what they're doing, although with you two along, probably all they'll do is hang back and mop up anything you leave still bleeding. Good luck."

Nihlus practically charged aboard. Shepard followed almost as quickly, feeling the adrenaline start to pick up. She slid into the pilot seat, even though the shuttle was mostly automated, and turned to watch the ERCS guards shuffle in. A turian and two humans. They arranged themselves in the passenger area, casting tense looks at each other and mostly trying to avoid catching the gaze of the two Spectres. Shepard punched in the startup sequence and then, as the shuttle lifted off, turned back to the guards.

"All right, listen up, folks. I'm Shepard, that's Nihlus—" she jerked a thumb back toward the turian, who was too engrossed in his shotgun to raise his head—"and despite appearances to the contrary, we're happy that you've chosen to come along with us. Now, we're not sure what we're getting into here, but since Binary Helix is involved, I wouldn't be surprised to see some really big bugs. They pack some mean acidic spit that doesn't care about your shields. And they like to pop out of grates, so keep your eyes on the ceiling, too." She pointed at the nearest being, one of the humans. "Your name?"

The woman straightened and threw out a sloppy but passable salute. "Annika Jensen, ma'am. I served in the navy for a couple years."

Shepard nodded. "Good. You?"

The turian seemed less impressed than Annika, but she hefted her assault rifle and met Shepard's eye squarely. "Lupea Palos."

Shepard turned to the last, a human male who looked exceedingly displeased to be there. He scowled up at her. "John Strahovsky," he grunted. Shepard cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

"Any worthwhile experience with that weapon you're clutching, Strahovsky?"

His angry expression deepened. "I know what I'm doing." She thought she heard him mutter something else under his breath, but she let it slide. This time.

"All right, ladies. Sit tight. We'll be there in a few." She returned to the pilot's seat and checked the flight path. They were passing over the Aleutsk Valley. She peered out the window and looked down at the winding path that she'd driven less than a year ago. She sighed with nostalgia as she gazed at the mountainous landscape and thoughts of Christmas came to mind again. She began humming _Angels We Have Heard On High,_ and Nihlus looked over at her.

"Oh. Sorry. The snow just puts me in a cheerful mood."

Behind her, she heard a surprised chuckle. "Going to top-secret facilities to face unknown hostiles and the real possibility of death makes you cheerful, ma'am?" It was Jensen. Shepard half-turned to grin at the human.

"Nothing puts me in a good mood like a good firefight." Well. "Almost nothing," she amended, and involuntarily glanced over at Nihlus, who was wearing the turian version of a smirk.

Palos snorted in laughter. Strahovsky grunted something that sounded suspiciously like, "We're all screwed."

Jensen blinked, looked between the two Spectres, and nodded uncertainly. "Well, I'm glad you're confident, ma'am."

The polite beeping of the shuttle's autopilot interrupted any further discussion, and as the landing struts touched down on the roof, Shepard became all business once more. She palmed the door control and hefted her shotgun. "All right, folks, let's move out. I'll take point; Jensen, you follow. Strahovsky, you're in the middle. Nihlus will bring up the rear."

She cycled her environmental helmet closed and stepped out into the blustery cold.


	8. In Which Shepard Is Nostalgic

**Chapter 8: In Which Shepard Is Nostalgic **

The landing pad was barren except for snowdrifts, a few blinking lights to guide any manual landings, and a sturdy railing. Shepard checked her radar. All clear. A short distance from the shuttle was a flight of stairs that descended to the roof where she'd cleared rachni the last time; she headed toward it. Behind her filed the rest of the group. She checked the radar again. All squad members were in their proper positions.

The generators were still there at the bottom of the stairs, humming quietly. "Jensen, Palos, take the left wall. Nihlus, take the right. I'm not about to be ambushed here again."

They split up as ordered, and silently crept through the towers. Shepard went from cover to cover, hyper-alert for the telltale squeals of the giant bugs or a flash of moving brown tentacle. At the Mira terminal, she held up a closed fist and halted. The rest of the team did likewise.

The VI flickered to life, and Shepard smiled beneath her helmet. "Good to see you, Mira."

"One moment, please. Checking authorization files. Hello, Commander Shepard. I am at your disposal."

"Give me a status report."

"Connection with the secure labs has been severed. At last update, eleven beings remained inside. Fourteen employees of Binary Helix and Synthetic Insights are secured in the cafeteria. Security drones are offline."

Shepard chewed her lip somewhat worriedly. "What was the location of Lorik Qui'in before connection was severed?"

"Manager Qui'in was within the secure labs."

She muttered a blistering turian oath. Nihlus' exhale was audible over the comm. She wondered if it had been a stifled laugh.

"What were Binary Helix and Synthetic Insights researching here?"

"I'm sorry, Commander. Due to the non-emergency status of the incident, that information is not available to non-company members."

"I _own_ Binary Helix, for crying out loud!" She huffed another curse under her breath and resisted the urge to blast Mira's terminal with her shotgun.

"I'm sorry, Commander. That information has not been made available to me. I am unable to comply with your request. Do you wish to ask another question?"

_I'm going to hurt somebody at BH._ She settled for, "Are the trams operational?"

"Affirmative."

"That's all. Thanks a lot."

"Very well, Commander. Logging you out."

Trust a VI to completely miss the sarcasm in her voice.

She signaled the team to continue to the door, and they arrived without incident. It opened with a protesting creak, but inside it was silent except for their footsteps on the metal floor. _Very stealthy,_ she thought dryly. The corridor was a short one, and deposited them at—_what else_—an elevator. She'd forgotten how many of them there were in Peak 15. She hit the call button and, while they waited, tapped her omni-tool on. Communications were down throughout the facility. "Wonderful," she muttered.

"What was that, ma'am?"

"Nothing. Stay sharp." _Note to self: your intersquad comm _is_ on. Keep comments to yourself._

The elevator arrived, and they all shuffled in. Shepard cycled off her helmet, and the rest of the team did likewise. Nihlus looked patently uncomfortable being stuck in close quarters with so many other people; Palos looked calm, and Jensen had a clear case of the jitters. Strahovsky she caught scowling at her. That man had a problem. She just wasn't sure if it was directed at her or life in general.

The elevator door hissed open, and they filed out once more. Shepard found herself studiously avoiding the grates, and grumbled again at the fact that Mira couldn't tell her what to expect ahead. But the short walk to the trams, though tense, was uneventful. Jensen jumped at least once, startled by her own shadow. Shepard hoped the apparent rookie didn't accidentally shoot her in the back.

They settled into the tram, and the ERCS guards seated themselves in a group, helmets off, and began conversing quietly. Shepard went to Nihlus, who was prowling around the back of the tram.

"I don't like it, Shepard. Too quiet."

"I know," she agreed, putting her shotgun away for the moment. "It can't be this easy all the way to the secure labs. It's making me jumpy. Last time I was here, I had to fight through a whole cloud of rachni just to get this far…"

Nihlus nodded slowly, and she noticed that he kept his own shotgun firmly in his hand. "I am certainly glad to be back in action, though. The inactivity of Port Hanshan, as enjoyable as it was at first, wears thin very quickly."

Shepard grinned, remembering her thoughts when she'd been looking through the observation window at his body. The two of them on a mission together…

It had been a little more of a romantic thought without the three tagalongs, though. Nevertheless, it was enough to alleviate her apprehensions somewhat. "Guess this can make up for that mission on Eden Prime that we never really got to do together, huh?"

"Indeed." His gloved fingers brushed across her own, and she smiled.

* * *

The tram ride was as uneventful as the rest of the mission had been so far, and it only served to ramp up the tension in the group. Shepard almost hoped that something would pop out of a door soon, just so they could all unload a few rounds. She suspected they'd feel better. And she'd finally know what they were up against.

When they arrived at the corridor that led to the secure labs, Shepard was highly unsurprised to find it locked. "All right, anyone able to hack this baby?" she queried of the group. The ERCS guards exchanged glaces, and Palos shook her head.

"We can send off a few mines, but none of us have the chops for that kind of security."

"Wonderful. Nihlus?"

The turian Spectre activated his omni-tool and scanned the lock, then tapped his mandibles doubtfully. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I believe the expression is—but my hacking skills are regretfully out of date." Shepard peered over his arm to watch him work as he tapped on the interface. Rusty though he was, his decryption skills far outstripped hers.

After a few minutes, he finally shook his head and closed his omni-tool. "I believe we should seek an alternate route."

"All right." Shepard gnawed her lip thoughtfully. "I'm pretty sure that we can go up to the security station level and go through the restricted area. There should be an elevator at the back of the level that'll put us close to the secure labs."

Nihlus nodded. "Lead the way, then."

They continued on to the elevators—Shepard noted that the one to the hot labs was operable again—and once more, all squished in.

"Be ready for anything when the door opens," she warned over the comm, remembering the treacherous Ventralis and the rachni scouts. "We're entering the real danger zone."

And when the doors slid open, Nihlus neatly headshotted the waiting geth shock trooper. Jensen shrieked as its body flew backward, arms windmilling and assault rifle flying from its hand. Immediately the rest of them brought their weapons up.

"Geth, huh. Well, not what I was expecting, but not exactly an unfamiliar sight." They filed from the elevator and carefully swept the room, but no more synthetics lay in hiding behind the crates. Shepard checked her hardsuit radar again. Two red triangles waited in the hallway ahead. She proceeded cautiously, everyone falling in line behind her once more.

They reached the door, and she signaled Nihlus to the other side, and on the silent count of three, he tapped the control panel. The door whooshed open and immediately they were greeted by a charging juggernaut.

Everything happened too quickly for Shepard to bark out any orders. Strahovsky dove for cover, spraying bullets in the direction of the geth, and Palos unleashed a carnage round before following suit. Jensen, to Shepard's shock, leaped in front of the juggernaut and gestured violently, and a split second later the geth toppled over backward. It stayed down just long enough for the two Spectres to finish it off with a shotgun blast and a well-placed sabotage mine. Meanwhile, Palos took out the trooper behind it with a sustained burst from her rifle.

For a few seconds, they all stayed where they were, silent, and then Jensen began to laugh hysterically. Strahovsky and Palos rose from behind their cover, and Nihlus advanced down the hallway a few meters. Shepard cast a quizzical look at Jensen.

The human was bent over, hands on her knees, and clearly trying to suppress her half-sobbing laughter. Her pistol lay on the floor at her feet. Shepard picked it up and put a hand on Jensen's shoulder.

"It's all right, soldier. You survived. Quick thinking there with the biotics." It was as close to reassuring as she could get. She didn't really do pep-talks.

Jensen forced herself to straighten, and wiping the tears from her eyes, she accepted the proffered pistol. "I—uh—thanks. Ma'am. I've never actually…well, I've never actually had to fire my weapon at an enemy."

"Don't worry," Shepard replied dryly. "You still haven't."

Jensen had the grace to look embarrassed, but she adjusted her grip on her pistol and raised her chin. "It won't happen again, Commander."

"Good. Let's move out."

They continued down the hallway, though the small office of Peak 15's security chief, and into the main hub of the facility. Everything was silent, an eerily empty contrast to the quiet terror of the scientists who had been there last time.

"Definitely don't like it." Shepard lowered her shotgun and cast her gaze around the room. Crates and boxes were scattered haphazardly, computer terminals were lying on their sides, and chairs were overturned. Bullet holes and scorch marks were scattered across most surfaces. A table was leaning upright against the far wall, blood splattered on its surface. An asari doctor lay slumped at the bottom.

"Looks like we're dealing with at least one biotic," Nihlus commented, nudging a crate with his foot. It was perched atop the body of a turian scientist whose chest had been quite crushed by the weight of the heavy shipping crate. Shepard had the feeling that it hadn't just fallen on him by accident.

"Well, that's just great. I _hate_ biotics." She glanced over at Jensen and hastily amended, "when they're the enemy, anyway."

Jensen gave her a shaky smile, but it was clear that the sight of the bodies was doing nothing for her confidence. "Jensen, why don't you and Palos head down to the med bay and see if there's anyone down there. Grab some medi-gel, too, if there's any left."

"Aye aye, ma'am." Jensen signaled to Palos, and the two women exited the room.

"The elevator is ahead?" Nihlus inquired of Shepard, indicating the door at the far left of the room. Shepard nodded.

"There's a security check—last time it was manned by a couple of drones, but Mira said they were offline. Probably taken out by our friend the biotic. Then the corridor gets pretty winding—lots of good places to take cover, maybe lay down an ambush."

The Spectre nodded and hoisted his assault rifle. "I'll scout ahead."

"All right." She paused, and then impulsively laid her hand on his arm. "Be careful." His nodded once more, grimly, briefly laid a hand atop hers. Then he was heading for the door, and she watched him go with no little trepidation.

When she turned around, she found Starhovsky glaring at her from halfway across the room, his expression openly hostile. She cocked an eyebrow and gazed right back at him, and after a moment he broke the contact. His grip on his assault rifle once again seemed far too clenched for his lack of nerves.

"Okay, Strahovsky, you've been shooting daggers at me ever since we got on the shuttle. What gives? You have a problem with turians? Did I accidentally run over your dog last time I was on Noveria?"

His face turned red all the way to his very blonde hairline and he swelled up much like, she thought, an angry pufferfish. (Why was she comparing everyone to animals, anyway? And she'd never seen a pufferfish before, either.) Or maybe a bull, ready to charge. She looked down at her Mercenary armor. Perhaps it had been a bad choice.

Strahovsky was making incoherent, strangled sounds when she looked back up at him. "Calm down, man. I just want to know if you're going to shoot me in the back." It hadn't seemed like a likely occurrence earlier, despite the ferocity of the looks he'd been shooting her, but now she wondered. It would be highly ironic if she ended up dying in the same fashion as Nihlus: taken out by someone close enough to get inside her shield. She surreptitiously touched her pistol with her left hand.

With visible effort, the human forced himself to relax the iron deathgrip he had on his gun, but no explanation was forthcoming. He seemed to be weighing the risks of verbally exploding from whatever anger he had pent up inside.

Shepard sighed and nonchalantly leaned against the only table still standing, her arms crossed. "Come on, sunshine. We don't have all day."

Finally, through gritted teeth he ground out, "I was here last year when you showed up, all self-important, acting like you owned the planet just because the _Citadel_—" and he said it like it was an insult, "gave you permission to kill anybody you felt like. Anybody you thought got in the way of your oh-so-important _mission._"

Shepard blinked at him. "So…what, I axed your best friend because they were trying to kill me? You gotta help me out a little bit more here, Strahovsky."

His eye twitched. She thought he might have a seizure from the sheer strain of restraining his rage. "Kaira Stirling was my captain. A _good_ captain. Someone I respected. And you killed her just because she understood how the real world works."

Shepard let out a surprised breath. "All this over Stirling? Listen, buddy, apparently things aren't the same in the magical world you inhabit, but in _my_ real world, if somebody picks a fight I'm not going to just lay down and die because they're keen to make some illegal credits on the side."

Strahovsky hissed something highly insulting and took a few menacing steps forward. Shepard held up a hand and shook her head.

"I wouldn't. Think about it, Strahovsky. I'm a Spectre. You're a rent-a-cop. If you want to walk out of here with your head intact, you'd better not take another step."

He stopped.

"Good choice. Now, I suggest you head back. Go to the cafeteria and secure the civilians. We'll rejoin you there once we've taken care of the problem up here."

He glared at her, motionless, for a moment, and then turned and left without another word. Shepard exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and when the door closed behind him she watched her hardsuit radar until his blue blip moved out of range.

"Trouble?" Nihlus inquired from behind her. She turned to face him and leaned back against the table once more, absently stroking a wispy lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail.

"Of a sort. I took care of it, for the moment anyway. Keep an eye on him once we pick him up again, though. I'm pretty sure he's not going to let it go."

"Indeed I will." He moved closer, close enough to reach out and tuck the stray strand behind her ear. She shivered involuntarily at the touch.

Jensen and Palos chose that moment to return from the med bay, and Shepard reluctantly straightened. She had to make a conscious effort not to guiltily jump away from Nihlus. "What's the situation?"

"There's no one down there. It's a mess. Looks like everyone panicked and ran." It was Palos who answered. Jensen had stopped abruptly at the sight of Shepard and Nihlus in such close proximity, her mouth halfway open as if she had been about to respond first. Shepard guessed that Palos was more used to the idea of interspecies attraction. "Just a couple packs of medi-gel left."

"Split them between the two of you." Palos nodded and handed half of the loot to Jensen, who took it more out of an automatic response than any sort of realization of what it was. She was still looking back and forth between Shepard and Nihlus. Then suddenly she said, "Where's Strahovsky?"

"I sent him back to take check on the civilians in the cafeteria."

Palos nodded. She'd probably been on Noveria as long as Strahovsky and had no doubt noticed the palpable animosity coming from him. Jensen was clearly wondering if depleting their small squad further was wise, but she kept any comments to herself.

Nihlus coughed, and the three women all looked at him. "The path ahead is clear." It was a welcome interjection into what was a somewhat awkward moment of silence. "The whole corridor. And the elevator appears to be unlocked and functioning normally."

"Great. Let's move." Shepard pulled her shotgun from its magnetic clip at her back and, reassured by its solid weight, made for the door. Jensen and Palos fell in behind her, although Jensen gave the dead asari one last, uneasy look before taking her place in the line. "Don't worry, Jensen. You've got armor, shields, and a weapon on top of biotics. Just keep a cool head when things heat up. You did fine with that juggernaut."

"Aye aye, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

They fell back into silence except for the sound of their feet on the metal floors. Shepard thought wistfully of the last time she'd traversed the corridor, Garrus, Liara, and Tali at her back and Ventralis' people ahead of them, turning the hallway into a series of miniature battles. Turning the corner had been an adventure every time. Her heart rate sped up just thinking about it. _Never thought I'd be back…or that it would be this boring. Last time we'd taken out at least a dozen geth and probably as many guards…_ She smiled at the memory of the deep, comforting _pong!_ of Garrus' sniper rifle. It was a sound she hadn't heard in far too long.

It occurred to her to wonder if other soldiers got nostalgic when they thought of past battles._ Probably not_, she decided. Nevertheless, she had very fond memories of Ilos. _Even as creepy as that planet was. I love being involved in epic quests. Why don't more people go into Saving the Galaxy? It's the best occupation ever._

At least nobody was complaining about the weather this time on Noveria. The constant griping had finally gotten to her, and she'd exclaimed, _"Does no one appreciate the snow for its Christmas cheer?!"_ and then, just to spite everyone, she'd hummed carols for the next two hours. She hadn't achieved anything but confusing her all-alien team, but later Liara had looked up Christmas on the extranet and then cornered Shepard to have a long, uncomfortable conversation about how "fascinating" human religious customs were. Especially weddings. _That girl had _no_ concept of personal space,_ she remembered with a sigh. _Or how to flirt subtly._ She grimaced just thinking about it. _Awkward…_

They reached the elevator and, as everyone piled in, Shepard suddenly wondered about where the rachni queen had gone. Peak 15 was quite a ways from Port Hanshan, especially for an unclothed (_do the rachni even _wear_ anything? Ever?_) bug. And even if she could have made it to the Port, she was a little too big to sneak in and somehow get on a transport. It was possible she had just slunk off to some other part of Peak 15, Shepard supposed, but what would she eat? What _did_ rachni eat?

Most likely she'd been recaptured, either by Binary Helix or one of the other shady corporations on Noveria, Shepard decided pessimistically. If it weren't for the geth they'd seen earlier, she might have suspected that the queen had gone back on her word and decided that she wanted to take revenge…

It was only sheer accident that she happened to glance down at her hard-suit radar as the elevator was coming to a stop, and she swore as she saw the cluster of red waiting for them on the other side of the door. The rest of the squad started at her outburst, and then she slapped the control to cycle her helmet closed and jerked a hand signal for everyone to take cover.

The elevator ground to a halt.


	9. In Which Shepard Knocks Over Chairs

**Chapter 9: In Which Shepard Knocks Over Chairs**

Taking cover in an elevator was not an easy feat, especially when there were two turians involved. Shepard found herself crouched beside the door, Palos looming above her and trying to fit her broad chest behind the narrow wall without forcing the Spectre into the open. Across the tiny room, Nihlus and Jensen were in the same predicament. Jensen was pale, perspiration shining visibly on her face, and she was poised in the opening of the "throw" gesture. Her arm trembled and blue coronas flickered around her fingers. Above her, Nihlus was activating a carnage round.

Shepard followed suit, and then the door hissed open and everything was chaos. She and Nihlus blindly unleashed their rounds into the charging mass of geth, unable to get out of their cover long enough to aim properly; the crowd fell in a tangle of metal limbs and flailing guns as Jensen frantically threw her biotics at them. But it wasn't enough to take the whole group down, and as Palos popped out long enough to get off a tech mine, the tell-tale red laser of a sniper alighted on her helmet.

With a heavy _crack_, Palos was flung backwards by the force of the shot, and although her shield seemed to catch most of it, the turian was so still against the back of the elevator that Shepard wondered if she'd broken her neck. It was a brief thought, however, because Nihlus was shouting for her attention and three geth troopers were plowing toward them, unleashing a steady spray of bullets as they came.

On the quick count of three, the two Spectres emerged from behind their cover and delivered a quick succession of shotgun rounds right into the flashlight-eyes of the geth, enough to send them toppling over backwards. Jensen stuck her head out long enough to unload a good portion of her pistol's ammo block into the pile, and Shepard sprang forward to deliver a killing blow inside the shield of the nearest trooper.

"Eat _that_, you bucket of greasy bolts!" she cackled triumphantly, and added another round to its chestpiece for good measure.

"Shepard, it's _dead_, there are plenty of functioning ones—" and Nihlus dragged her forcibly back to the elevator as her hard-suit began blaring its alarm that her shields were nearly gone.

"Right, thanks," she said, and ducked back into cover. The rain of bullets didn't slow. Jensen was crouched at the back of the elevator, a biotic barrier shimmering around her armor, trying to drag Palos out of the immediate danger. The turian stirred, and Shepard heard a groan over the comm.

"Come _on_, Lupea, help me out here!"

Shepard turned her attention back to the enemy as a pair of geth approached, still firing in an apparent attempt to prevent anyone from popping out of cover. She threw a grenade out the door blindly, and listened to it skitter across the floor like a stone on a pond before gently bouncing off one of the geth and exploding in a brilliant ball of orange. Before the blast had even subsided, she whipped around the corner and aimed another grenade more precisely; it struck the head of one of the downed geth, and then twisted metal limbs were flying in every direction.

Shepard whooped despite the gravity of the situation.

"We should advance," Nihlus reminded her, taking her arm once more, although his grip was gentler this time.

"Yeah. Right." She looked back at the elevator, where Palos had risen and Jensen was holding out a hand in case the turian needed support.

"You all right, Palos?"

"Yes, ma'am," the turian responded, giving her head a quick shake. "Just blacked out for a second. Nothing serious." She raised her rifle steadily to her shoulder. "Lead on."

They advanced to the corner, past the smoking remains of the geth. Shepard checked her radar: a cluster of red was lying in wait at the end of the corridor. She chewed her lip. "There's a door on the left that'll take us directly to the secure labs…they must be guarding it. Guess we'll have to take our chances and hope there aren't more of them hanging around the maintenance entrance. There was some cover last time…"

She slid down the wall into a crouch and cautiously peered around the corner. The hallway was strewn with crates, many of them open, the lids propped against the wall or stacked haphazardly. A juggernaut and several snipers loitered near the entrance to the labs. She quickly pulled her head back.

"Looks like the geth came in the shipping containers…wonder how long they've been here? They could even be leftovers from when Benezia came in with her gang."

Nihlus crouched next to her. She could just barely make out the glint of his green eyes through the dark faceplate of his helmet. It was such a shame, she thought, that helmets were a necessity for combat. She hated them, but she'd learned early on that they were a vital piece of armor—although not always for the obvious reasons.

She smiled at the memory of explaining to Garrus the origins of the scar that bisected her eyebrow and wound down her cheekbone. He'd hesitantly asked her about it, mumbling something about the fierce, hardened look it gave her. She'd been embarrassed to tell him that it was the result of getting overly excited during one of her first enemy engagements, forgetting her helmet, and, in a mad rush to confront the smugglers, tripping over a body and smashing headlong into a wall.

He'd looked a little disappointed. She'd had to cheer him up by showing him the rest of her extensive scars, most of which had much more impressive origins. And locations.

"Shepard?"

She blinked. "Huh?"

"Are you ready?"

"Oh yeah." She pumped her shotgun. "Let's get the sons of—" She frowned. "Well, I guess they aren't anyone's sons." Shoot. That took away so many good insults.

She shrugged, signaled the others to follow, and leaped around the corner. Her carnage round blew the head off one of the snipers; Jensen overexerted herself with an attempted singularity and sucked half the cover into a hurricane of boxes and synthetics, and Palos' overload mine blew one of the remaining snipers all the way to the end of the hallway and into the wall. Shepard and the turians picked off the remaining geth as they crashed to the ground in a pile of shattered plastic and metal. It was over in less than a minute.

"Well." Shepard _whew_'d. "Piece of cake."

"Cake…sounds really good…" Jensen was sprawled on the floor, half propped up against the wall, trying to pull her helmet off. Her hands were shaking too much too find the release. Shepard crouched next to her.

"Are you injured, soldier?"

"No, ma'am…but I've never been this hungry in my life." She finally found the catch and yanked the helmet off. Her face was flushed, a startling contrast to her earlier pallor, and she was breathing heavily. "I'm…not sure I can move."

Palos knelt beside Shepard. "Overuse of biotics without enough preparation," she said, and Jensen nodded once.

"I don't even remember the last time I had to use 'em…think it was for my interview with ERCS."

"Well." Shepard rocked back on her heels. "We're just a few meters from the lab. You can make it that far—" Jensen nodded again, reluctantly. "And then I'll be having a nice long chat with the person in charge. You can rest and hopefully get something to eat. But you have to stand up first."

She motioned Palos to the other side of Jensen, and they hooked her arms over their shoulders. With effort, they hoisted the fatigued biotic to her feet. Nihlus prowled ahead of them (_like a panther_) as the trio hobbled toward the door, his shotgun at the ready even though the radar was clear. Shepard felt nervous, weighted down as she was by Jensen, knowing she'd be unable to draw her weapon quickly if they were attacked.

Pieces of geth clanked as they shuffled through the wreckage. Shepard frowned at the scorch marks and bullet holes that pitted the walls, realizing with annoyance that she'd probably be the one who ended up paying for the repairs to the station now that she partially owned Binary Helix. It was the first time that the aftermath of a battle had given her feelings other than satisfaction. _Aside from Virmire, anyway. _She grimaced at the thought. Leaving Ash behind had been one of the worst moments of her life. Going to the cargo hold afterwards had been a painful experience. She and the Chief had spent many a night kicking back on top of the Mako, drinking the worst alcohol in the galaxy and swapping stories. It had made for an awkwardly hilarious encounter with Garrus once…

They'd been perched on the canon mount in the dark, a bottle of something fermented between them, killing time during the _Normandy_'s night cycle, chuckling over some story Williams had told, when the elevator had come crawling down. By some unspoken agreement, she and Ash had fallen silent, almost embarrassed for anyone to find them lurking up so high. Garrus had stomped out of the elevator, muttering something to himself about being unable to get comfortable in the cramped sleeper pods. He'd paused in the middle of the room, taken a deep breath, and then begun tapping on his omni-tool as he more sedately made his way to the Mako. Shepard and Ash had exchanged raised eyebrows. The situation had much potential.

But Garrus had made it unnecessary for them to pop out and surprise him ("I wonder what it sounds like when a turian shrieks like a girl?" Ash had whispered). He'd leaned back against a wheel and brought up YouTool on the extranet, and after a moment of browsing through the videos, selected one. Shepard and Ash had leaned over him as far as they could to eavesdrop, and then Garrus had pulled two knitting needles and a ball of yarn from nowhere and begun trying to follow the tutorial video. They'd remained there, frozen, while he fumbled and muttered his way through a small purple square. At the end, he'd held it up triumphantly, and then his expression had fallen and he'd sighed.

"She makes it look so easy…" he mumbled, and then he'd turned off his omni-tool and ambled back to the elevator.

Shepard and Ashley had solemnly sworn never to speak of it.

"Shepard?…_Shepard._"

She jerked. Nihlus was having a hand in front of her eyes. "Huh? Oh, sorry. I was just…never mind." She tried to bite back her smile from the memory. Since then, she had become the proud owner of sixteen knitted potholders.

She and Palos gently released their grip on Jensen as they reached the door, and the human leaned back against the wall, still flushed but not trembling quite as badly. "Thanks."

Shepard turned to the door. "Locked. Of course. I suppose we can't hack this one, either?"

Nihlus looked down at his omni-tool and shook his head. "It's more secure than the other one. Communications are still down as well."

"Peachy," she grunted. "Think it's soundproof?" She balled her armored hand into a fist and banged on the door several times. "Lorik, so help me you'd better still be alive in there after I hauled my butt down here _again_!" she hollered. Jensen snickered despite herself.

There was no response, immediate or otherwise. She pounded on the door again and added in a kick for good measure. "Open the door or I'm going to start beating out Christmas songs, _and_ I'll sing! Loudly and badly!"

Nihlus made an odd snorting sound and his mandibles trembled, signs she'd learned were an indication of suppressed turian laughter. "If they can't hear you, that would be punishing us, not them," he pointed out, and she sighed.

"We'll all have to band together and ram the door down, then—" and then the door slid open, so they didn't have to.

"Commander. Thank you for your assistance." Lorik was as unruffled as ever, even with a rifle in his hand, his suit still impeccable, and apparently unfazed by her threats of singing. Shepard felt herself melt just a little at the sight. Suits and guns were always good combinations.

"Always a pleasure, Lorik. We cleared out some of them—" and she jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the scattered remains behind them, "but I assume there's more somewhere?"

"Indeed. And I imagine you would like to know, what is it—the 'large picture?'"

Shepard blinked at him, and then grinned. "The _big_ picture. Yes. I definitely would."

* * *

First, though, they settled Jensen down in a corner of the lab that had been converted into a medbay. One of the scientists, an asari who specialized in a branch that Shepard couldn't even pronounce, let alone understand, was functioning as the medic. When she had listened to Jensen's description of her ailments, she nodded and produced a package of candy from somewhere in her lab coat.

"I always keep some for emergencies," she said with a wink, and handed it to the human. "It's no substitute for a good eight-course meal, but it should help you get a little bit of energy back. That and a nap."

Shepard thanked the asari, who had just nodded and gone on to examine Palos. Lorik and the two Spectres had proceeded up to the observation deck that provided access to the containment tank where the rachni queen had been held. It seemed to be the main congregation area; most of the scientists were clustered around tables there, talking quietly or simply staring off into space. Shepard spotted one game of cards that none of the players seemed terribly interested in.

"So, tell me one thing…are there any rachni involved this time?"

Lorik shook his head. "No, although I cannot say for certain whether Binary Helix has given up on that project or not. But it was not the focus of our collaboration." He leaned forward in his seat and steepled his fingers. "You leave an interesting trail behind you, Shepard. After you departed Noveria last year, there were dozens of geth remains scattered about the facility. None of them were operable, of course, but Binary Helix recognized their immense value. As well, after the attack on the Citadel, there were a great deal of…shall we say, 'parts' floating in space around the station. Citadel Security did an excellent job of securing most of the remains, but to gather all of it—such a Herculean task could never be accomplished. Synthetic Insights acquired a small sample. We proposed the collaboration to Binary Helix."

Shepard groaned and plonked her head down on her arms and counted to three. Then she leaped up, knocking her chair over, and yelled, "You experimented with Sovereign? Are you _insane?!_" She spun and buried her face in her hands. "I won't kill them…I won't kill them…" she muttered, and walked away before she did just that.

"Perhaps, in retrospect, it was a mistake," Lorik admitted behind her. "But things were well in hand until Binary Helix successfully resurrected Mr. Kryik. That was when they realized what a great source of information Benezia could be."

"You _didn't,_" Shepard sighed, but obviously they had. She turned back to the table, righted her chair, and sat in it once more.

"Indeed. It was at that point that several things happened which had not been accounted for. First, the small piece of the Reaper was not able to affect minds like the living ship had. That much we determined quite early on; it still emitted the signals, but only weakly."

"Oh _boy_," she muttered, but motioned for him to continue.

"Second, the reanimation of the lady Benezia did not go as smoothly as before. There were some complications—Dr. Chorbis could explain them to you, I am sure, but he escaped at the beginning with quite a few of the scientists."

"Wait. Was Rana here, too?"

"Dr. Thanoptis? I believe so. I don't know what happened to her."

Shepard bit her lip in annoyance. She'd be very unhappy if the asari had escaped the nuclear blast on Virmire only to get taken out by some random geth trooper.

"When Benezia awoke, she was disoriented, weakened—mentally unstable. And, regretfully, due to her prior indoctrination, she was quite susceptible to the signals from the piece of Sovereign."

"So, let me guess. Benezia goes nuts, trashes the place." She ticked off the events on her fingers. "She activates all the geth that she cleverly snuck in and which, I assume, have just been sitting around in plain sight for the last year." Lorik inclined his head. "Even in her deranged state, she realizes that it's a _really bad idea_ to let you guys keep a hunk of Reaper to research. And then they start shooting everything in sight. And you all fell back to the secure lab. Or the cafeteria."

"That is the gist of it, yes."

"Well." They looked at each other silently for a moment. "I guess getting your butt kicked by an undead chick and a five-pound hunk of wires is pretty cutting-edge."

Lorik's mandibles twitched. She had no idea how he could find any of it amusing. A glance over at Nihlus told her that the other Spectre didn't know either.

"Okay, then. Do you have any idea how many geth we're looking at? And what their plan is?"

"There were perhaps two dozen geth packed in the crates. We were also working on repairing five of them in the quarantine lab. It's possible they have finished the work."

"So we're probably facing fifteen, maybe twenty…plus Benezia. Well, that's not bad odds." She looked around the room. At least half of the survivors were ERCS guards, and a few of the scientists were turians. Shepard assumed they could probably handle themselves in a firefight. "Benezia's probably going to be a problem, though. She packs a mean biotic whallop."

"Indeed," Lorik said dryly. "We have already experienced it."

"The maintenance area does have two entrances…we could split up, send one team in from here to distract them. The rest of us can go through the quarantine area and try to take Benezia out while they're distracted. She's good, but she doesn't like to be on the front lines, it seems."

"An excellent plan," Nihlus said after a moment of consideration. "However, the first team will have heavy casualties."

Shepard thought of Captain Kirrahe and the stirring speech he'd given to his men. She didn't think she could live up to that standard.

"Well, it's die out there or die in here, 'cause Parasini isn't sending reinforcements. And a bunch of geth can live a lot longer without food than we can."

There was silence as Nihlus and Lorik exchanged glances.

"I believe that a more diplomatic phrasing would net us more volunteers, but essentially, you are quite correct," Lorik said finally.

Shepard leaned back in her chair, propped her feet up, and crossed her arms. "I'll leave it to you and your silver tongue, then."

Lorik mimicked her posture, minus the propping of feet, and regarded her with his most calculating gaze. "Is that a challenge, Shepard?"

"No, no…not at all," she replied airily, waving a hand to dismiss the notion. "…unless you want to make a bet on it."

"Much as I might enjoy divesting you of your earnings, I suspect that this is not the time for a wager. We should begin preparations at once, and make our attack before the enemy makes theirs."

"Yeah, you're right." Shepard sighed and rose from her chair. "I'm going to go check on Palos and Jensen. Let me know when you've found out who'll participate."


	10. In Which Shepard Dispenses Advice

**Chapter 10: In Which Shepard Dispenses Advice**

Shepard began to make her way toward the makeshift infirmary, but her gaze was arrested by the containment tank before she got more than a few feet away. Inside it lay what had to be Synthetic Insights' piece of Sovereign, a black hunk of metal and glinting lights. Despite her misgivings about the sanity of keeping such an object around, she found herself walking over to observe it more closely.

It was a mass of blue-black metal and wire and something else that gave it an oily shine. Perhaps two feet in length, it was roughly oblong, but there was nothing smooth about its surface. It was covered in jagged edges and pits, and circuitry stuck out at strange angles.

It would, Shepard decided, make a highly unattractive piece of artwork in some politician's office. In other words, it would fit in perfectly.

Comparisons to ugly statues aside, she was somewhat surprised to find that the chunk of Reaper elicited no strong feelings from her (other than the ever-present 'who would _ever_ think this is a good idea!'). It bore such small resemblance to the massive being that she'd seen while fighting across surface of the Citadel Tower that it was difficult to even equate the two.

But even from the other side of several layers of protective material and, she guessed, an eezo field, it made her feel cold and uneasy. She shivered involuntarily.

"Are you all right, Shepard?" Nihlus laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked over at him and forced a smile, appreciating the gesture even if some of its warmth was lost when there was half an inch of armor between the two of them.

"I'm fine. Just…" She sighed and, with some effort, turned her back on the tank. "I knew the whole Reaper thing was far from over. _Really_ far. But I thought maybe we'd get a break for a little bit…the rest of them are just chilling out there in dark space, for crying out loud! We should have a good 'nother couple thousand years before they start wondering what's up. But it seems like I just can't get away from them. Even on shore leave. And it sure feels like I've done all this already."

"Hmmmm." It was less of an agreement than merely a comforting sound. They stood in relative silence for a moment, she staring somewhere over his shoulder and he gazing pensively at her. Ridiculously, she thought of Garrus.

_Why am I always thinking about _Garrus? _Nihlus the incredibly attractive turian Spectre is not three feet from me. Looking very…pantheresque. _She sighed and resolutely squashed down the guilty feelings that fluttered up. Now was _not_ a good time to be getting all emotionally conflicted. Conflicted soldiers tended to be dead soldiers.

"I'm afraid I cannot offer much in the way of comforting words, Shepard. But the enemy you know, understand, and have already defeated is a much lesser threat than the one that is totally unknown. And…once we have 'taken care' of them, as humans so oddly put it, there is no reason to remain on Noveria for the rest of your leave, no?"

She shook her head and slumped back against the tank. "No, I guess not. I mean, I'm all for the snow, but I guess a beach or two doesn't sound half bad right now."

He chuckled and joined her next to the tank. "I must say I simply do not understand your fascination with the cold weather, Shepard. Nor the—what are they called? 'Carols?'"

"Yeah. Well, that's just because you've never heard one like they should be heard: played by a full orchestra and sung by a choir, not mangled by yours truly. Once you hear them properly, you'll understand." She winked, and he hummed in amusement. _Ughhh…that sound!_ The double tone of turian voices was attractive enough by itself, but that peculiar, subvocal laugh…with effort, she forced her mind out of the gutter and back to what he was saying.

"…perhaps…wish to join me for a few days on the Citadel? I realize that you live there for the moment, so it is not exactly a 'destination,' but it has several rather spectacular artificial beaches. And though I am not generally fond of lounging, I believe that this episode calls for a some kind of relaxation afterwards."

A slow smile spread across her face. "I'd love to. I've never been to any of the Citadel beaches…"

* * *

She got around to checking up on Jensen and Palos eventually.

"How are they, Doctor?" she inquired to the asari, who was perched on a crate and reading something on her omni-tool.

"Oh, they'll be fine," she replied, tapping off whatever she'd been engrossed in and jumping down lightly. "Annika is mostly suffering from low blood sugar; she's resting—" and she led Shepard toward the makeshift bed, "and Lupea's concussion is very minor. Well, as far as I can tell. She's very alert, no memory problems, no pain except some soreness in her neck. Probably to be expected."

Jensen was nodding off, although she didn't look terribly comfortable on the cot. It was a bare-bones affair, broad and flat, clearly designed to accommodate a wide range of species, from spindly salarians to rotund volus. _Probably not krogan, though. It'd collapse like matchsticks._ Someone had wedged some rolled-up bundle under the human's head and draped a lab coat over her, but she still looked cold despite having curled up beneath the meager covering. Her eyes flickered open as the footsteps approached, and she began to sit up.

"Take it easy, Jensen. Don't make yourself dizzy."

"Sure thing, ma'am…" she replied, putting out a hand to steady herself as she rose. Then she focused her blood-shot eyes on Shepard and suddenly brightened. "Looks like you got a nap in too, ma'am." And she reached up to smooth down her hair.

Shepard blinked and then, with a blush, realized her own hair was in a somewhat unruly state. _I _really_ need to stop letting Nihlus play with it so much._ She knew she wouldn't.

"Yeah, right." She cleared her throat and tried to discreetly pat the mess into something more dignified. The asari doctor coughed, a sound that was suspiciously like a laugh being covered up, and then she pointed vaguely in another direction.

"I'll just be, uh, over there if you need anything else…"

"So." Shepard tried to ignore the fleeing asari and turned her focus back to Jensen. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, uh…" The human scrunched her face up and inspected her hands. "Still kinda shaky. Stomach's still growling, and I think I could sleep for another day or two…but…"

Shepard waited.

"Well, if you need me, ma'am, I can fight."

"I can use every able body, but if you're not up for it, there's no sense in going out there and getting injured. At least a couple people who know how to use a rifle should stay here, just in case. But it's up to you."

Jensen nodded slowly, still examining her fingers. "I'll…I'll think about that, ma'am."

Shepard reciprocated the nod. "I'll be back in a couple minutes." As she walked toward Palos, she looked over at the other end of the room where Lorik had gathered the survivors and was, presumably, requesting volunteers in a very diplomatic fashion. She could see the tension in the crowd even from where she was, but the low tone of Lorik's voice carried enough that she could tell he was maintaining order.

"Ah, Commander."

She turned her attention back to the makeshift med bay. "Hey, Palos. How are you holding up?"

The turian looked at her quizzically. "I'm not holding anything at the moment."

Shepard shook her head. "Never mind. Are you up for a fight?"

"Ah. Yes, indeed I am." Palos reached over and patted the rifle that she'd set down on the nearest crate.

"Awesome. We're going to split up into two teams and get them from both ends of the maintenance bay. Team one's going to be the distraction; team two's going for the crazy biotic lady. Nihlus is leading one, I'm leading two—where do you want to be?"

Palos tapped her two fingers on the rifle thoughtfully for a moment. "I will go with the first team. You will want the best soldiers with you, and the guards assigned here are the cream of ERCS."

Shepard raised her eyebrows in surprise at Palos' self-assessment, but bit down any comments she might have made. Turians prided themselves on knowing their place in the hierarchy, after all…well, most of them did. "Okay, your choice. We'll be moving on in ten or so."

The turian nodded, and Shepard looked back at Jensen, who was holding her gun in her lap and contemplating it seriously, and sighed a little. "I guess I'll give her a couple more minutes…looks like Lorik is still mustering the troops."

Palos took a breath as if she were going to say something, then thought better of it. Shepard looked back at her sharply. "What is it? Do you have any reservations about Jensen?"

"No…" The turian shrugged and absently played with her rifle. "I must confess I have grown rather fond of her. When she came to Noveria with the latest batch of hires, I found her optimism was something of a fresh breath—is that the correct term?—among the general grimness of ERCS. Nobody comes to Noveria because they enjoy it here. The weather and the people take a toll before too long."

"Oh?" Shepard leaned back against a railing and drummed her fingers on its cool surface. "Why'd she come, then?"

Palos chuckled dryly. "For the money, of course. She wants to be a—doctor of some kind. A dentist, I believe. But the cost is apparently, as she put it, 'astronomical.'" She paused. "Not to slight Annika—we are friends, if not close ones. But I believe she got the job with ERCS because of her biotics. Being a soldier is clearly not her area of talent."

"Yeah…I kinda figured." She glanced back at the subject of conversation, who was frowning closely at her rifle and rubbing her thumb along some dirtied surface. "That's the problem, though. Her biotics would _really_ come in handy dealing with the geth—they already have. I just don't know if she can exert herself much more with just a bar of sugar in her system. Y'know, in the military they get a canteen of some energy stuff to chug when they start drooping…you'd think ERCS would do the same."

"Indeed. Who knows what goes through the minds of corporate heads?"

"Yeah…bunch of idiots with their heads so far up their butts they can't even see straight." She thought of Mikhailovich and his stubbornly narrow-minded view of the _Normandy._ _Hmph! Insult my ship, will you? Guess it just goes to show that they don't even have to be corporate buffoons…most bigwigs are like that…except Lorik._ And she smiled. Lorik was definitely going to be part of team two. She had the feeling he wouldn't object.

"You also seem quite able to keep your spirits up, Commander. In fact, you seem to be enjoying yourself a great deal," Palos observed. "Is it a human trait?"

"Huh? Oh. No, not really. There are lots of really dumb, grumpy humans, too. I think we're the professional complainers of the galaxy."

"Ah." There was silence for another moment, and then Palos shifted. "Commander, do you mind if I ask a somewhat…personal question?"

"Uhm…I…guess not…well, I don't know if I mind unless I know what the question is, so shoot."

Palos frowned and glanced down at her rifle, then looked back up, apparently deciding that it was not a literal command. "How long have you known Nihlus?"

Shepard's cheeks began to warm immediately. She was growing unfortunately accustomed to the frequency of the sensation. "Ah…well…it's a bit…complicated. But, all together, about…a week." _And _how_ long have you known Garrus?_ She stomped the thought down. Garrus didn't have eyes as intense as nuclear fires.

Palos' mandibles jerked in obvious surprise. "A…oh. You seem very…close. I wasn't under the impression that humans moved so quickly in relationships."

The warmth turned to fire and she clapped a hand to her face in embarrassment. "You make it sound so…I dunno…_improper_." She cleared her throat. "Um, the truth is, we don't. As a rule. I mean, usually relationships develop over years. Or at least months." She thought of Kaiden and Liara. _Well…they _are_ kind of an exception._ "I thought the same was true for turians…I think Nihlus and I are, well…"

"I…see. I apologize if I caused you discomfort. I was just wondering what it's like to be in an interspecies relationship."

"Oh. Well, I actually haven't had a whole lot of relationships with _humans_, but…I guess it's pretty much like any other interculture…thing. You turians have a bunch of strange ideas. You probably think we're a bunch of weirdos, too. Sometimes it can make for misunderstandings, but otherwise…" She remembered Garrus' horrified reaction the first time she'd tried to high-five him, and involuntarily she grinned. "As long as everybody's patient, it's not a huge deal. Most incidents end up being funny when you look back on them. Although some things can be, uh…awkward. Y'know. We're a little…squishier than you are. If you get my meaning."

Palos laughed. "I believe I do, Commander. Thank you, that was most helpful."

Shepard bit her lip, almost restraining her curiosity, but threw it to the wind after only a moment. "So why'd you ask?"

Palos hmmm'd in a distinctly turian show of reluctance, but answered without too much hesitation. "There is...a man, back at Port Hanshan...there isn't much documentation of relationships between turians and other species, aside from asari…who are not really like humans at all, of course."

"That's for sure," Shepard rejoined, and they both laughed. "Well, I'm glad I could help. And good luck with your man."

The turian thanked her, and then she moseyed back to where Jensen was reclining on the cot once more. The guard sat up quickly as Shepard approached, and quickly grabbed her rifle from where it lay next to the bed.

"I'm ready to fight, ma'am."

Shepard nodded in approval. "You'll be on team one with Nihlus. Conserve yourself and stay low, and you'll do just fine."

"Thank you, ma'am!" She saluted, a little wobbly but sharper than the first one she'd thrown back at Port Hanshan. "When are we leaving?"

"Not long. Nihlus and I will finalize the plan, divide everyone, and then we'll be off…"

* * *

The group that Lorik had been addressing was just dispersing as she walked up. Lorik and Nihlus were watching them silently, inscrutable looks on their faces.

"It went that great, huh?" Shepard asked, scanning the faces as they passed. Predictably, the scientists looked scared witless, and the guards and several of the turians wore looks of hesitant determination.

"As expected," Lorik amended. "We will take six of the security personnel and two civilians. Two guards will remain here to secure the lab should the door be breached."

"Great!" Shepard clapped her hands together and rubbed them in somewhat restrained glee. "Let's get this show on the road, then."

It took them a few minutes to sort of the last details. Nihlus would lead a five-being team to the near entrance to the maintenance bay, and Shepard would take Lorik and the remaining volunteers back up to the main level and down again through the quarantine labs to the second entrance.

"That's really poor floor planning, you know," she commented after they had divided the personnel. "No structure needs this many elevators." She eyed Lorik. "As nice as that suit is, you're going to need some armor."

"Indeed. I appreciate your concern for my clothing, Shepard; there are a few spare pieces in storage below." He nodded toward the small area below the containment tank. "I believe I will be adequately protected."

Shepard could have sworn that Nihlus sent a quick, jealous look at Lorik when she made the suit comment, and she groaned to herself. _Oh, this is _not _good. I have_ got_ to stop falling for every turian I see._ Aloud, she said, "Well! Let's get set, then. I'll round up team two while you're getting ready, Lorik."

She strode off quickly, wondering just how obvious it was that she was hopelessly crushing on the two turians. Granted, she and Nihlus hadn't exactly been…_subtle_, but still…she sighed, shook her head, and tried to get her mind off of it. "Emotional distraction: not good. Shooting up Benezia: very good," she muttered, and then she was approaching the cluster of volunteers and quickly stopped talking to herself.

A few minutes later, everyone was assembled. Her team consisted of Lorik, two asari, two turians, and a human, all ERCS employees, and one other turian, a scientist who looked comfortable enough in his grey armor and armed with a rifle. Nihlus' squad was made up of Jensen, Palos, and two human guards and the second turian scientist.

Nihlus briefly outlined the plan once more, and Shepard couldn't help but fidget, checking her armor mods and heat sinks once more even though she'd done it not two minutes ago. She caught Lorik looking at her and grinned. "Just itching to put my blunt manner to good use," she said, and accompanied it with a wink.

"I look forward to seeing you in action," he responded.

"Likewise."

The asari standing behind her shuffled and made a sound like a stifled cough. Shepard wondered in despair if _all_ asari found her relationships funny.


	11. In Which Shepard’s Reflexes Fail Her

**Chapter 11: In Which Shepard's Reflexes Fail Her**

It was a tight squeeze in the elevator. A _very_ tight squeeze. Shepard found herself smushed up against the door, bumped repeatedly as everyone shuffled around, trying to find some comfortable position. There were a few grunts and squeaks of pain as toes were stomped on and one unlucky asari got a turian elbow right in the eye. Shepard almost tapped her comm to tell everyone to put their helmets on, but quickly thought better of it. In the cramped quarters, it was a recipe for disaster. _Next elevator, we're taking two trips._ Still, it wasn't all bad. She'd been forced to squish up against Lorik—it was such a shame. Of course, due to their armor it wasn't as exciting a moment as it could have been; nevertheless, she took the opportunity to study his facial tattoos up close and personal and to better appreciate the elegant shape of his mandibles.

For his part, he seemed to be admiring how fantastic her Mercenary armor made her butt look._ Fair exchange_, she thought, and grinned wickedly at him when he looked up.

Unfortunately, the elevator doors opened before she could get in any more flirting, and the team spilled out into the corridor. She watched everyone file out, nodding to each in what she hope was a reassuring fashion.

Now that there was some breathing room, she advanced to the head of the group and placed her helmet securely on her head. "Okay, gang. You know what to do. Caiza, you're in the lead. I want anybody who could warn Benezia to be taken out first." The asari nodded and tightened her grip on the HMWSR that Shepard had lent her. She'd had about a hundred years of practical experience with the weapon and could take out any scouts from well outside the reach of their radar. "I'll be right behind you. Lorik, bring up the rear."

"I would be delighted," he purred, and Shepard started before realizing that he'd set his comm channel to a private connection between the two of them. She did the same before responding.

"And here I thought you were always subtle."

"I thought you might prefer the more direct approach."

If it weren't for the faceplate in the way, she would have winked at him. As it was, she was just glad that she managed the exchange without blushing once more. _Who would have thought that Lorik was a dirty guy inside. If I hang around him much longer I'm going to end up jaded and never blush again._

"I appreciate your thoughtfulness," she replied, grinning beneath her helmet, and then she switched back to the open channel. "All right, let's move."

The asari sniper started down the corridor slowly, scanning every likely hiding spot carefully as she went. Shepard followed closely, rifle at the ready, alert but unable to keep her mind from wandering at least a little. Peak 15 got boring after you went through it enough times. She could probably fight her way through it in her sleep. With one hand behind her back.

Instead, predictably, she thought about Garrus. She wondered how many messages he'd sent her since she last checked her e-mail. Probably several, she thought with a mental sigh. If he weren't so…_nice_ then she might have gotten annoyed at his clinginess. But he didn't seem inclined in the slightest to imagine that she was gallivanting about with other turians. She could think of a lot of human men that would have been suspicious at the very notion of their girlfriend taking a vacation by herself; but Garrus just stayed home and knit things for her (she was always sure that the _next_ thing he made would be something other than a potholder, but he seemed determined to perfect the square before moving on) and sent her 'I'm fine, all's well, I fed the dog' letters and called her his chickpea. There were plenty of girls who would kill for someone like that.

Of course, Shepard would do it literally. And Garrus would do the same for her. That probably wasn't something that most girls had in mind.

It hadn't all been roses, of course. Garrus had worshipped the ground she walked on from the moment she was made a Spectre; that hadn't always translated very well to a romantic relationship. He was something of a neat freak; she liked to let the dishes pile up before washing them. And making the bed? Well, she was just going to sleep in it again in a couple of hours, so what was the point?

On the other hand, Garrus had an irrational fear of spiders. Shepard had always wanted a pet tarantula. The first time he'd flipped out and starting whacking madly at an intruding arachnid with one of his shoes, she'd been horrified.

"They're not _harmful!"_

"They're vermin!"

"It was just living its little spidery life, blissfully unaware that it was about to be smushed into the carpet by an irrational turian! It didn't ask to be born a spider!"

Needless to say, they'd had to compromise. Shepard trapped and released any that she found, and Garrus never killed a spider while she was nearby. Now, _centipedes_, on the other hand…

Especially the nasty krogan variety that the Citadel had had a problem with a few months ago. Shepard shuddered with revulsion at the memory. "_Nothing_ good ever came from Tuchanka," she muttered to herself.

"Yes ma'am, I have to agree. Although I'm not clear on what it has to do with our current situation." It was the human ERCS guard, piping up from the middle of the line. Shepard mentally kicked herself. She never could remember to turn off the open channel when she was talking to herself.

"Never mind, Lin. Just…talking to myself." Somebody sighed. Shepard wished she could identify the annoyed party in order to deliver a proper tongue-lashing, but they were coming up on the elevator and she decided it wasn't really worth it. Besides, it would take too much time. Nihlus and his team were waiting for them.

"Okay, people. Four at a time. No more squished soldiers." She motioned for Caiza and the other three nearest to the door to proceed. She, Lorik, and the two remaining guards waited somewhat impatiently; the asari slowly paced up and down the hallway, and the turian swept every crate, box, and niche at least twice, his nerves showing visibly. He probably didn't have much combat experience, Shepard guessed, at least not against geth. Geth were quite a different matter from unruly businesspeople.

The elevator rumbled back up just as Caiza' voice came over the comm. "The barracks and the quarantine labs are clear, Spectre."

"Great." The doors opened, and Shepard and the rest entered. "Hold position." She tapped her omni-tool and switched the channel to the one for Nihlus' team. "Nihlus, we're almost in place."

"Excellent," the turian responded. "We will begin our attack. I'll see you on the other side."

Shepard had to smile at his use of the human expression. "You'd better." After all, she'd be more than a little upset if he died again.

* * *

The scientist barracks looked exactly the same as she remembered, except this time they were strewn with bodies. They were mostly ERCS guards, but here and there lay the corpse of a scientist or the remains of a geth. Inexplicably, Shepard thought of Han Olar. She wondered what had happened to him after she left Peak 15, and whether he ever got the therapy he needed or if Binary Helix had just given him a chunk of hush money and transferred him to somewhere much slower than Noveria. _I should look him up after this is over…although I don't know what I'd do. I don't think a sympathy card would cut it._

The ERCS guards who were on her team were looking much grimmer than they had on the upper level. Lin was kneeling by one of the bodies, his face stony and mouth a thin, angry line. The other asari put a hand on his shoulder silently, and then he rose, jaw set. _Ready to blast some geth into next Tuesday, I hope,_ Shepard thought, although she couldn't help but feel some sympathy for him.

Together, they all advanced down the stairs and to the maintenance door. On the other side, Shepard could faintly hear the sharp sound of gunfire and explosions and a few panicked yells. She held up a silent count of _three, two, one,_ and then she slapped the door control and braced herself for the chaos inside.

As she'd predicted, Benezia was hanging back, although she was more involved in the fight than expected. Two juggernauts flanked her, unloading steadily into the fray as the matriarch summoned her biotics; past them was a swarming mass of geth and turians and exploding things. As if on cue, two shock troopers went shooting back through the air and smashed into one of the juggernauts, clipping Benezia as well; the asari staggered, and the geth went down.

"That's it! Move, everybody!"

They poured into the maintenance bay and opened fire, taking what cover they could although the room was mostly bare. Shepard threw caution to the wind and, signaling to Caiza to lift the remaining juggernaut, sprinted forward toward Benezia.

She caught the dazed asari in mid-gesture and slammed the butt of her shotgun into her midsection. The matriarch squawked as she went down, a sound that registered somewhere in the back of Shepard's mind as 'hilariously undignified,' and then she had to turn her attention to the downed juggernaut as it lunged toward her from its half-upright position.

But up this close, their shields were useless, and the juggernaut's rifle had been knocked from its hand. Instead it smashed its fist against her helmet just as she jammed the muzzle of her shotgun into its midsection and pullled the trigger. As they both flew backwards from the double impacts, Shepard briefly thanked herself for remembering to put her helmet on, otherwise she might be missing a head instead of ending up with merely a spectacular bruise. She couldn't spend much time on the thought, though, because the juggernaut was slowly righting itself and she had been dumped unceremoniously on top of Benezia. The asari was struggling to shove her off and reach the pistol she had tucked in a holster, and Shepard got a fantastic view of blue bosom about to pop from her outfit.

_How does that thing stay _on_? _she wondered in amazement, and then she bashed the butt of her gun into the matriarch's face—"Hold _still!"_—and took careful aim at the juggernaut as it snatched its rifle from the ground. An overload mine exploded in its face—she glanced at the rest of the ream to see Lorik prepping a second—and her carnage round finished it off.

It had all happened in a matter of moments. Shepard shook her head quickly in an attempt to clear some of the dizziness that had resulted from the juggernaut's punch, and then took stock of the situation. The crowd of geth at the far end of the maintenance bay had realized that a new group of enemies had appeared and they were now trapped; several of them had turned and begun firing at Shepard and her team. The others seemed to decide that their best option was to force their way past Nihlus' smaller team.

"Shepard, we cannot hold this position for much longer. What is the status of Benezia?"

Shepard glanced at the dazed and winded asari just in time to see the juggernaut that Caiza had lifted fall on Benezia with a wet, crunching sound. She winced involuntarily.

"She's down for the count. Hang tight, we'll take care of the back half of the crowd." She turned and signaled to Caiza and Lin to take care of the fallen but still kicking juggernaut, and then she charged ahead.

There was precious little cover. Her shield rippled a constant complaint as she plowed through the spray of bullets, pumping round after round into the fray. Her hard-suit radar blinked a steady count: behind her, four of her teammates; ahead, less than a dozen geth. Lorik was right beside her, steadily unloading bullets into the closest enemy. From behind them, the sound of Caiza's sniper rifle drummed a slow beat. A trooper flew back, disintegrating into ashes as it went; Shepard thought she heard the asari whisper _"I'm in love!"_ over the comm. Apparently Garrus wasn't the only one who cared for his guns a bit more than perhaps he should.

Bodies flew everywhere, geth and organic, as the battle continued to devolve into confusion. Shepard paused by the only cover available in the middle of the bay, a les-than-sturdy crate marked "GLASS—HANDLE WITH EXTREME CARE," and Lorik crouched next to her. She peered over the crate. The geth were down to half a dozen, and although they continued to advance, the crossfire was cutting them to pieces. Beyond, she could see Nihlus and an ERCS guard leaning out from behind the exit door, sending off a slow and steady stream of mines and grenades.

Bullets smacked against the crate, and the contents made a cheerful tinkling sound as they broke.

"Hope that stuff wasn't real important!" she said to Lorik, and then popped up to neatly blow off the head of a rocket trooper that was almost close enough to touch.

The last few geth began a final charge, and just as Shepard was bracing herself, they sailed off the ground and flew harmlessly over her head. At the back of the room, the second asari guard slumped to the ground. Shepard spun, tracking the gently floating geth as they flailed in the air, and she and the remaining members of her team finished them off.

There was silence for a moment as they surveyed the wreckage, everyone scanning the room to take in the damage. Geth lay in tangled heaps; a human arm poked out from beneath a mangled destroyer; splinters from battered crates littered the room. Lin was checking on the asari guard who'd provided the final lift, but the two-inch hole in her helmet spoke for itself.

"Shepard?"

It was Nihlus' voice coming in over her comm. "Hey!" She smiled despite the grim aftermath of the battle, and then she noticed that the door to the secure labs was closed and the turian was nowhere in sight. "Where are you?"

"The door panel has been damaged in the fight. Looks like we'll have to meet you back at the labs. The remainders of my team have been injured—we're going back now to get them treated."

"Got it. See you in a couple minutes."

"Indeed. Excellent work, Shepard."

She clipped her shotgun back in its magnetic holster and knelt down to check on the nearest casualty, one of the turian scientists. He was unconscious but breathing; the hole in his leg was loosing a steady stream of dark blue blood, and she hastily squirted a liberal glob of medi-gel into the wound. It would be enough to keep him from bleeding to death.

Shepard rocked back on her heels and pulled her helmet off, digging her gloved fingers through her sweaty hair with a sigh of relief, and watched the flow of blood ebb to a trickle and then a slow, intermittent drip. She stifled a yawn, feeling her adrenaline come crashing down again and leaving her feeling like she needed a nap, and for a moment she watched the bright red of a laser sight wander across the ground next to her and crawl up her leg. Then it disappeared from sight and it suddenly occurred to her that nobody should be shooting anything anymore, and before she could even think of diving for cover or blurting out a blistering obscenity, the crack of the sniper rifle thundered through the room.

Shepard hit the deck even though she knew, somewhere behind the _ohsweetlordimgonnadie_, that any evasive action was too late and her brains were probably flying all over the room and she just hadn't floated out of her body yet.

A second passed. Two. She slowly realized that her heart was pounding in her ears. _That's usually a good sign that you're was still alive.._. She raised her head and found that everyone else had taken up similar positions on the ground, although most of them had drawn their weapons instead of covering their heads with their arms. She suddenly felt sheepish.

Then she saw the figure standing in the doorway, rifle resting rakishly in the crook of his elbow with its smoking barrel pointed safely at the ceiling, and the paralyzation of a near-death experience vanished.

"_Garrus!_" she squawked, lurching to her feet extremely unsexily. This wasn't exactly how she'd imagined their reunion; she was usually the one saving _his_ butt. Still—when faced with the alternative, it wasn't all bad.

Besides. He looked _very_ handsome in his Predator armor.

She could think of a lot of things to say—"What are you doing here?" or "Sexy as ever, I see," or even just "Thanks," but she decided none of them properly expressed her feelings on his sudden appearance. Instead, she cleared her throat, dusted off the snow that was clinging to the front of her armor, and advanced toward him at the most dignified pace she could muster.

She was halfway there when movement flashed at the corner of her eye, and she half-turned just in time to see the not-so-dead Benezia aiming a pistol at her face, and then the _blam_ that she heard definitely did not come from Garrus' weapon. Then the snow-covered floor was rushing up to meet her, and she could feel the rather disturbing sensation of blood spurting out of her neck somewhere, and then her face hit the ground and the blood was streaming into her eyes and all over Garrus' fingers.

"It's really cold in here," she mumbled into the pillow—no, that was someone's foot—as her cheek went numb where it lay against the frozen ground. Blurry figures hovered above her, voices distant and frantic, and then someone lifted her up and before they'd even gotten to the door, everything went black.


	12. In Which Shepard Is In Charge Here

**Chapter 12: In Which Shepard Is In Charge Here **

_Shepard had never really been a wedding-planning kind of gal. Not too many lady marines were, but even as a wee girl she'd never gotten excited over the prospect of planning out an elaborate shebang with a froofy white dress and two million flowers and rice-throwing and smashing cake in some guy's face. It had always surprised her how many of her fellow gang members had longed for such an occasion._

_Shepard? She'd always said she'd go for the free booze and the food. "Forget the wedding, give me the _reception_! The vows can take two seconds for all I care."_

_So she was surprised for a moment to find herself standing in a hallway somewhere, wearing an incredibly expensive and impractical white piece of frippery, clutching a bouquet of flowers—except they were miniature Tuchankan man-catchers, but of _course_ they were. Any respectable woman nowadays had a bouquet of man-catchers. The double doors to her left swung open, and Sovereign floated past her and through the doorway, a basket hooked over one appendage and the others spreading the contents into the air. The Reaper proceeded down the aisle toward the altar, its dandelions drifting gently to the floor behind it, and Shepard peered around the door._

"_No, don't look. That's bad luck. Not until you start down the aisle." It was Ambassador Udina, and he took her arm and patted it reassuringly. "Don't be nervous. You look lovely, dear."_

"_What if I _trip_?" And she picked at the ridiculous train that dragged behind her for at least five feet. "I can't go sprawling flat on my face! It's my wedding! I'd be humiliated for the rest of my life!" She frowned at Udina, nagged by the annoying feeling that something wasn't quite right. Didn't she have more important things to be worrying about than getting married?…_

"_You're right. That would reflect badly on humanity as a whole, Shepard." He shook a finger at her in that particularly accusing way he had. "We can't be seen as clumsy. You represent us all."_

"_I _know_," she grumbled, and glared down at the man-catchers, wondering whether one of them would grab Udina's nose if she shoved the bouquet in his face. "You're not helping." She examined the white shoes that poked out from beneath the hem of the wedding gown. How had she agreed to wear three-inch heels, anyway? And what was up with her hair? She poked it experimentally with one hand. It was piled high on top of her head, and then it cascaded down in red ringlets to her shoulders. Wasn't her hair dark? And straight?_

"_Don't worry, it's not going to come down." Udina was starting to sound grouchy. Hadn't Sovereign gotten to the end of the aisle yet? She was anxious to get to the altar. She had a man to marry. Finally, the strains of "Here Comes the Bride" began to drift out the door, and Udina straightened. He offered his arm. Shepard stared at it in confusion for a moment, and then hooked hers around it. How awkward._

_They went to the double doors and slowly started down the aisle._

_Shepard was so glad she'd decided to have the ceremony on Ilos; it was stunningly picturesque in Vigil's chamber. The hazy golden light streaming in illuminated the scene beautifully, and the soft white fluff from Sovereign's dandelions swirled gently around her as she went. Someone in the audience sneezed. Those seats sure had been expensive to get installed…but it was worth it to be able to invite everyone she'd wanted._

_She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and not wobbling too badly. Suddenly she was glad to have someone next to her for balance. The aisle seemed to go on forever; the band had inexplicably switched to some soft, ethereal-sounding piece with slow violins and and a low, echoing chime like a glass harmonica. She liked it much better than the traditional fare they'd been playing._

_Then suddenly, they were almost at the altar, and she looked up to see the wedding party arrayed around Vigil. There were the groomsmen—Joker in his crutches, Captain Anderson in dress blues, and Finch in a suit. Wait—wasn't Finch dead?_

_Apparently not._

_Then the bridesmaids, all clutching miniature versions of Shepard's own bouquet; Ashley in her dress blues, trying to surreptitiously remove a finger from the mouth of one of her flowers, and next to her, the Asari Councilor, and Tali who wore a rather elegant version of her usual encounter suit. In lieu of a dress, she wore a cape. Shepard had sudden outfit envy. Capes were much better than trains._

_Then she and Udina had reached the altar and the scrambled hologram of Vigil appeared, and Shepard looked past him at the groom. He was wearing Ursa, a color that complimented him well, she thought approvingly._

"_Who gives this woman to this man?" Vigil inquired, and beside her, Udina straightened. _

"_We, humanity and the Alliance, do." And he reached across and joined Shepard's hand to Conrad Verner's._

_Wait…Conrad Verner? Something was really, terribly wrong here…_

"_Do you, Commander Shepard, take this man…"_

* * *

Shepard woke up with a violent jerk as she spat out a vicious curse and slapped at Conrad Verner. "No! No I do not!" she hollered, punching and scratching at the hands that were trying to restrain her, and then someone landed a slap that sent her tumbling back onto the bed. Shepard clapped a hand to her stinging cheek and blinked several times in a daze, looking up at the room that was most definitely _not_ Vigil's chamber. Somewhere at the back of the room, a blurry turian-shaped figure was wrestling with a white-clad being, and she could hear strangled bits of the conversation.

"What was _that_ for!—"

"She was still aslee—"

"You didn't have to _hit_ her!—"

"She reopened the wound! I need to—"

"_Stop it!"_ Shepard roared in her best I'm In Charge Here voice, and then she froze, paralyzed as the blistering pain finally overrode the adrenaline shock from her nightmare. The scuffling sounds ceased immediately, and she collapsed limply on the bed, trying to block out the throbbing in her head and attempting to take stock of the pain that was stabbing her all over. Her neck was on fire and blinding pain was shooting up into her skull and all the way down to her toes; her mind felt like it was made of moldy swiss cheese, with thoughts slipping in and out, none of it very lucid; something was digging its way into the crook of her elbow, and the entire area felt like it had been slammed in a door; her whole body ached as if she'd run the entire length of the Aleutsk Valley. While carrying Wrex. And on top of it all, every breath she took re-ignited the white-hot sensation spiking through her body. She'd never known that pain could be both dull _and _piercing at the same time. For a few agonizing moments she decided not to breathe at all. It didn't help.

"Nnnnuuuehhh," she moaned into the bed. She tried to say something else, although she wasn't entirely sure what, but it came out in a similarly incoherent fashion. A second later, she heard someone shuffling beside the bed and a hand tentatively brushed over her fingers.

"Shepard—"

And then that person was shoved out of the way and two much less gentle hands replaced the first, prying her fingers away from her eyes and efficiently rolling her onto her back.

"'Toppit," she whimpered, pawing weakly at the intruder, who easily shoved her hands aside and began poking at her neck.

"Not good. Not good at all..."

Shepard yelped as something cold made contact with the burning hole in her neck, and her torturer snapped something medical-ese over her head. The jabbing in her arm suddenly stopped, and after a moment she felt a prick in the back of her hand. A second later and blissful numbness spread over her like nice, hot bubble bath.

_Hmm. Odd way to describe a painkiller…_she thought groggily, but it wasn't important enough to continue thinking about. She was just glad to be able _to_ think again, now that she couldn't feel her body any more except for a faint tingling sensation in her limbs. Normally the helplessness of being unable to move would have sent her into a panic, but this, she decided, was preferable to the alternative. And with that turian guarding her—

Who _was_ that, anyway? She would have turned her head to look at the figure that was hovering nearby, but the doctor was in the way and she probably couldn't have summoned the strength to move that much in any event.

"You have a remarkably high tolerance for painkillers and sedatives, Spectre," the doctor told her disapprovingly, leaning close to peer at Shepard's neck while she worked.

"Mmmnuhh," Shepard responded with an eyeroll, which was all the expression she could muster. "Gwarrr?"

A turian head immediately appeared over the doctor's shoulder. Shepard attempted to smile at the familiar blue-painted face, but she had a sinking feeling that it showed up as a drooling grimace. How embarrassing.

"I'm right here, Shepard," Garrus reassured her, and then the asari shoved him away again with an impatient grunt. He quickly reappeared at the other side of the bed. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"Go _away_," muttered the doctor, reaching across the bed to push him again. He disappeared from Shepard's line of vision for a second, then popped back into sight one last time. "I'll just be—" and then the doctor made a strangled sound of impending violence and the turian retreated of his own volition.

Shepard tried to keep her eyes open, but even the odd feeling of fingers in her neck couldn't prevent her slow drift back into sleep. She was sure, though, that before she lost consciousness again, she felt Garrus take her hand in his.

* * *

When she woke once more, it was with much less violence, although to her great regret the pain had returned. It was a manageable dose this time, a slow throb that pulsed up and down her spine and jabbed the side of her head when she tried to turn it.

"Ugh," she said, the first sound she'd made in a while that actually came out the way she intended, and slowly she lifted a hand to feel around the bed. It was equipped with a railing on both sides, cold and sturdy, and beyond it her knuckles banged into a bedside table. Something clattered to the floor.

"Whups." On the other side, she heard a quiet snort and then the sound of gentle turian snoring. Shepard managed a grin that, while lopsided due to a half-numb face, probably looked less deranged than her last attempt had. She kept feeling blindly on the table, more carefully this time, but after a few more seconds of groping her arm grew too tired to continue. She let it dangle limply.

"H'llo—" She coughed. Her throat and mouth were too dry and tasted like—she wasn't sure what. Something unpleasant. After a few experimental throat-clearings, she tried again.

"Hell_oo!_" It was accompanied by an impromptu knee twitch. Her foot banged against the railing.

No response.

"I nee' mo _drugs_," she mumbled, glaring at the ceiling. _Doesn't this stupid bed have a call button? What kind of crappy hospital is this? Am I still on Noveria?_

She couldn't say for sure, because the room was painted a soothing tan color, something that she would have sworn didn't exist on the seemingly grayscale planet. She sighed. There weren't even any ceiling tiles to count. Slowly she began to turn her head, gritting her teeth at the searing feeling as her neck protested, and then finally she could see that there was a window to her right. The sky was a clear blue-grey, but in the distance sat soft grey mountains, and a dusting of snow blew against the glass.

"Awriigh!" The sight of the snow cheered her up enough that she didn't mind the pain so much when she turned her head back to face the ceiling. All that was missing was a tree with some garlands. And popcorn strings.

Shepard's stomach roared its approval at the thought. She peered down at it in disapproval. "Tha's rude." But the thought of food _was_ quite appealing. When was the last time she'd eaten, anyway? Ah, yes…room service just before Lorik had called her. Who knows how long it'd been since then—she could've been unconscious for days if that asari had sedated her enough.

"Stupid…grumpy…mffff." She gave up before she got to "doctors." It wasn't worth the effort to try to talk to herself. Even if she _was_ lonely. And hungry.

The snores to her left intensified, and she could hear the sleeper shifting in his chair. She could only assume it was Garrus—he'd said he wasn't going anywhere, after all.

_Great,_ she thought glumly. _Now what am I going to do?_ She wondered if Nihlus or Lorik had been by, and if so, what Garrus' reaction and been. And what _their _reaction had been, for that matter. She could just imagine trying to explain the whole mess to Garrus.

"_I couldn't help it! They're both so…striking! And Nihlus has this…way of prowling…I knew him before I knew you!"_

Shepard scrunched her face up and sniffled. Her eyes stung. This wasn't _fair._ She shouldn't have to choose between the three of them.

On the other hand, she was pretty sure she'd never heard of a turian harem. And besides, much as she appreciated them each separately, she couldn't see them getting along very well. Even worse, Garrus might decide that Nihlus was even more awesome than she was. He'd been a Spectre longer, after all.

She hated to admit it, but it was nice to have a boyfriend who thought she was the most kickass thing since—well, some turian mythological figure that she couldn't think of at the moment. Not that she didn't reciprocate, of course.

"If s'mone don't come in here…in two seconds…." Shepard sighed and wiggled her toes experimentally, then her fingers. Her right arm was starting to fall asleep from dangling off the edge of the bed. She tried to feel around some more for the call button. "I'll start singing…ahahh! Gotcha…"

She stabbed the call button as hard as she could, and it made a small, impotent beep. _Seriously. Who puts the call button on the far end of the bedside table…I could be dying of dehydration in here and they wouldn't care. Somebody's going to get fired._ She frowned. _Assuming this is a Binary Helix hospital._ Then she remembered that she was a Spectre, and if she liked, she could execute whoever designed the room no matter who they worked for, and the thought cheered her up enough that she decided it wasn't necessary after all.

"Bein a Spectre's awefum," she declared to herself, just as the door opened and the perpetually crotchety asari doctor stepped it. "Oh. Hi."

"Good afternoon, Commander." From her expression and the dreading tone in her voice, it was not a good afternoon, and it was all Shepard's fault, too. Shepard smiled cheerily. "How are you feeling?"

"Naw' baad…kinda hurt. Ca't talk."

"Yes, that is to be expected." The asari jotted something down on her clipboard and approached the bed. "You are remarkably lucky. The shot passed through your neck without irreparably damaging any nerves, and with some quick application of medi-gel you didn't bleed to death." She shook her head, a disapproving frown on her face. Shepard hoped it was disapproval of the shooting and not of her survival, but somehow she suspected that wasn't the case. "Of course, the muscles were severely damaged. It took quite a bit of surgery to reconstruct everything; I'm afraid you'll have a rather large scar and a bit of a dent once everything has healed."

Shepard couldn't help but grin. Finally, an impressive scar that she actually got from an enemy! Except it was still a result of her own carelessness, which dampened the enthusiasm somewhat.

"And you'll require physical therapy, of course."

Shepard mumbled a string of curses. There was nothing worse than being so weak that she had to exercise just to be able to move her head around. She was Commander Shepard, the Best of Humanity, Savior of the Galaxy, and she'd been bested by a reanimated blue geezer. How humiliating. The vids would never let her hear the end of it if they found out.

This was supposed to be her shore leave, anyway. _How unfair is that? I'm never coming back to this planet again, snow or no snow._

At the very least, the sour look on her face prompted the doctor to crack a genuine smile, even if she hid it quickly. "I see you're not looking forward to it. But I assure you, it's quite necessary if you want to be back on the job any time soon. And if you don't rip the wound open again, you should heal without any problems."

"Wunnerful," Shepard muttered, and sunk further down into the bed. Not that she could sink very far; in comparison to the bed in her hotel room, it felt like she was lying on a few pieces of cardboard.

The asari didn't dignify it with a response, and instead busied herself with adjusting all the machines and tubes that were arrayed around the bed. Shepard noticed with a guilty start that the doctor was sporting some rather fresh gouges on her face. _Well, better her than Garrus,_ she thought stubbornly. Then a moment later the doctor adjusted the IV and suddenly the pain melted away, and Shepard had to admit to herself that the asari wasn't all that bad.

The doctor made a perfunctory examination of the wound, muttering to herself and jotting down a few notes, and then she straightened. "Well, everything looks fine. It shouldn't hurt any more, but I wouldn't recommend moving too much. Also, you have another visitor—" and she glared pointedly over the bed at the still-snoring turian there, "a Nihlus Kryik. Would you like to see him?"

"Ummmm." Shepard considered for a moment. She _did_ want to see him, but…

"I can tell him to come back later."

"No…send 'm in."

The doctor nodded, disapproving frown back in place, and left without another word. Shepard sighed and scrunched her eyes closed, feeling a sudden headache coming on. She never had headaches before she had a boyfriend.

A minute later, the door slid open once more and Nihlus strode in. Shepard gave him her best smile, having practiced several times before he appeared, fairly confident now that she wasn't drooling at least.

"Shepard…" He was still wearing his Phantom armor, splattered with a mist of red, she noticed, as he trailed off and shot a quizzical look over her. She forced the smile to remain on her face. Maybe if she acted like everything was fine…

"Hey, you." _Look at that! I managed to string together two coherent words._ "'Sup?" Very smooth.

Nihlus perched on the chair that sat unoccupied to the right of the bed, and after one last look at Garrus he turned his full attention to Shepard. "Dr. Tius says you will recover fully. How do you feel?"

Shepard pursed her lips and considered the fact that she still couldn't feel half of her face or her toes. "Pretty crappy."

Nihlus chuckled and reached out to trail one finger across the back of her hand absently. "I imagine so." The faint touch sent a shiver down her back. It was a decidedly uncomfortable sensation with Garrus in the room, even if he was asleep. "The _Normandy_ is coming to pick us up. The facilities here are adequate, but the doctors on the Citadel can have you fully functional in no time."

"F'ntastic. Not moving…sucks." A thought suddenly occurred to her. "How bad 'sit?"

Nihlus cocked his head at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then his mandibles bounced in amusement. "You've been lying in a hospital bed for nearly two days, Shepard. I'm afraid you don't look like a…what are those strange humans called? A supermodel."

Shepard snickered at the thought that she would _ever_ look like a supermodel. ("Too skinny! At least I have _muscles_. And a real job.")

"You have a rather spectacular bruise covering the left side of your face, and most of your neck around where you were shot. You also broke a tooth when you fell."

Shepard stared at him, wondering why in the world she hadn't noticed before that she was missing a tooth, and began poking around with her tongue experimentally. Sure enough, one of her laterals had a rather impressive chunk missing from the bottom. Suddenly she felt embarrassed to be seen in such a condition. To top it all off, she probably smelled terrible. And even worse, she _really_ had to pee.

Nihlus must have read the dawning horror on her face, because he quickly took her hand in his and began stroking her hair with the other. "It's not that bad. You'll be out of here in no time."

Shepard felt more tears coming on, much to her annoyance. "I'm a _Spectre_, naw uh _two-year-ollld!_" she wailed. Or tried to wail, anyway. It came out more as a wheeze.

But apparently it was loud enough to wake Garrus. She heard a grunt and the screech of a chair as he jerked awake, and then an instant later she could see the tip of a sniper rifle poking into her line of sight.

"Shepard?…are you all right?" His tone was hesitant and annoyed—probably at being caught sleeping—but with an underlying edge. Nobody bothered his girlfriend.

She sighed. "Garrus…s'okay. Please put the gun 'way." Nihlus had reached for his pistol, but stopped short of drawing it; his expression was almost amused. _I'm so glad he finds this all amusing…not for long, I bet. Life really sucks right now._

There was a moment of silence, and then the barrel disappeared and she heard the clicks as it compressed into is holster-able form. "Garrus, this is Nihlus Kryik, a friend and fellow Spectre. Nihlus, this is Garrus Vakarian. I'm sponsoring him for the Spectres. Kinda like you did for me." Okay, the last part was for Garrus' benefit, not Nihlus', but it worked. She could almost feel the embarrassment in his voice.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Spectre. I'm just…a little jumpy."

Shepard tried to discreetly disentangle her hand from Nihlus', and then with a wince she turned her head back to face forward. "Don't this…stuupid bed…sit up?" It would get old very quickly if she kept looking back and forth at them on the opposites sides of the bed. Nihlus examined the bedside table for a moment, and then pressed one of the controls. With a soft whirring sound, the bed began to reform itself into a shape more conducive for sitting up.

"Ahh. Better." Now both turians were easily in her line of sight, and she mustered up a smile for Garrus. "Sleep nice?"

He slowly lowered himself back into the chair that he'd so-recently vacated, and somewhat sheepishly brushed a hand over his head-plate…horn…things (she could never figure out what to call them). "Not really. How are you feeling?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Like I go' run ovrr by a…herd 'a elcor."

Garrus chuckled at that. "Well, you don't have to worry about Benezia any more. We made sure of it. And those geth won't ever be fixed. We made sure of that, too."

"Thanks. Thanks for…savin' my sorry butt."

"You don't have to thank me for that, Shepard," he responded softly, and then he leaned closer, his tone taking a low, decidedly wicked edge. "Although if you'd really like to…I can think of a few th—" and then she slapped at his arm weakly, half in annoyance and half playfully. Nihlus _was_ still in the room. _Crap._ She wanted to die of embarrassment.

And she definitely caught the way that Garrus eyed Nihlus over her. _Oh yeah, he's got his best Protective Boyfriend behavior on…Spectre or no Spectre. Great._

"Um. Garrus…" She lost the train of thought as she caught sight of the yarn that trailed over the edge of his chair. Two knitting needles poked out above the twisted pink-and-red string.

Shepard burst into tears.

She'd taken off for vacation without him, refused to give him a straight answer about why she was going, ignored almost all his e-mails, and flirted outrageously with other turians for the entirety of her stay; meanwhile, he'd been faithfully taking care of business back home, finally decided that something was wrong, shown up just in time to save her head from getting blown off, and then sat by her bed and knitted her things while she was unconscious. He was like a faithful puppy. Except light-years better.

She felt like the biggest scumbag in the galaxy.

Through the tears and ferocious sniffing, she could see the two turians looking at each other in stupefaction. It was obvious that neither of them had any idea what had caused her to erupt so, or what they should do, and Shepard couldn't stop bawling long enough to send either or both of them from the room. She felt absolutely miserable, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and the sensation of tears dripping down her face and into her flimsy, itchy hospital gown was the icing on the miserable cake. She could only manage to lift one hand—the other was tied down by the IV—to attempt to wipe her red, swollen, bruised face.

Then someone—she couldn't tell who; for all she knew a flock of doctors had descended on the room—handed her a tissue, and she dabbed ineffectually at her eyes, trying not to snot all over herself, and for the next few minutes whoever it was passed her a steady supply.

Finally, exhausted, she collapsed back down onto the bed, eyes squeezed shut, trying to swallow her hiccups. For a moment, all she heard was the beeping of machines and a quiet shuffling of feet.

"Spectre?"

It was the doctor. Shepard cracked an eye open and peered up at her. The asari was standing next to the bed, a confused frown on her face and a datapad in her hand. "Are you in pain again?"

Shepard shook her head mutely and glanced around the room once more. Garrus and Nihlus were gone. The doctor's frown deepened.

"I made them leave. They obviously upset you, and I won't have that in my hospital."

_How sweet! I didn't know you cared._ She felt a little guilty for the thought—the doctor really hadn't been that bad, after all. Just slightly less cheerful than most of the asari she'd met lately.

"Thanks," she muttered, and then hiccupped loudly. The doctor's expression relaxed into something more sympathetic.

"No problem." She pulled the blanket back up—it had been knocked askew during Shepard's sobbing fit—and tucked it around the Spectre. "I'll send them back to the hotel. Would like something to eat?"

Shepard exhaled shakily. "Actually…I really have to pee."


	13. In Which Shepard Battles Waterworks

**Chapter 13: In Which Shepard Battles Waterworks**

Hospital food was disgusting. It was, Shepard decided, a universal fact and could be relied upon in any place, whether civilized or backwards, cheap or expensive, alien or human. Hospital food was worse than MREs. Hospital food was worse than prison food.

She had to guess on that last one, but it was a good bet.

She scowled down at the tray that was perched across the bed railings, organized into several equally unappetizing sections; there was some brown, lumpy soup that was supposed to be some sort of meat dish, a pile of incredibly limp green beans, a tiny and sour-looking apple, a heap of pale mashed potatoes, and a small blob of jello.

Shepard yearned for the steak dinner she'd demolished just a few days ago (with Lorik, she recalled glumly). But eating the hospital food, she decided, couldn't be as horrible an experience as going to the bathroom had been. They'd somehow wrestled her into a wheelchair, and then when they'd gotten down the hallway to the ladies' room she'd required assistance with almost everything.

She had, however, evicted the orderly from the actual stall. The salarian had protested strongly, but Shepard's death glare had finally won.

"Ughhh." She reluctantly picked up the plastic spork and poked at the jello. It was the only thing that looked remotely edible. Her stomach groused loudly about its empty state, and with a sigh, she dug into the mashed potatoes. Jello wasn't exactly filling, and she was _hungry_.

The potatoes were as horrible as they looked, with a grainy texture that nearly induced vomiting, but she forced herself to down them anyway. To distract herself from the terrible sensations in her mouth, she pondered her messy relationships. It wasn't something she was looking forward to, but it had to be done.

Garrus was the only man for her, that she'd realized for certain. _No_, she corrected herself, _I've known it for a while now, and I was just ignoring it because I was still hanging on to Nihlus._

Nihlus…she still had strong feelings for him. He was quite different from Garrus—graceful and composed, always sure of himself. Garrus was so easily influenced, by some things at least. Shepard had lost count of the number of items that she'd returned after he'd bought them in a spate of excitement. _"It looked so useful in the commercial! And see, it does—"_ and then he'd point out some feature and she would sigh and nod. It wasn't that he had bad taste. It was just that no one really needed fourteen blenders, even if the latest one _did_ make ice cream as well.

Nihlus, she felt, probably did not make impulse buys. Still, as exasperated as Garrus could make her sometimes, she did love all his little quirks. He simply wouldn't be himself without them.

And she had known him long enough to pick up on the quirks, too. Despite spending the last few days with Nihlus, she couldn't think of too many of his idiosyncrasies. He had them, no doubt. But the plain fact was that she really didn't know him all that well.

Garrus? It was easier to compile a list of things she _didn't_ know about him. Except she couldn't even think of any.

With a sigh, Shepard stabbed unenthusiastically at the vegetables. At least they weren't cold. Yet.

Then, of course, there was Lorik. She'd regretted not getting to spend more time with him earlier—although she _had_ very much enjoyed seeing him go head-to-head with the geth—but now it was almost a relief. He would probably take it pretty well anyway. She'd only flirted (mostly) harmlessly.

Nihlus had been a wonderful drinking partner, though. "Garrus 's such a lightweight…" she muttered around a mouthful of beans. On the other hand, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that Garrus crashed after two drinks. If they routinely stayed up late getting smashed, she'd turn into an alcoholic. But drinking alone was no fun, and wild nightclubs weren't really her thing. Too dangerous. Too many opportunities for someone to stab her and slip away in the crowd, or drop something into a drink. Plus, they frowned on armor there. Didn't make for good dancing.

The closest thing she'd been in lately was Flux, anyway. She and Garrus had grabbed a couple dances not long after Sovereign's defeat; the place had been surprisingly unaffected by the attack. Most people just went about their lives. Or maybe they just went to bars to cope.

Shepard prodded the brown stuff with her spork and wrinkled her nose in distaste. Protein or not, she just couldn't bring herself to put it in her mouth. Instead, she dropped the spork with a sigh and a clatter and picked up the apple to give it an investigative squeeze. It squished ever-so-slightly under the pressure.

"Laaame," she sighed, and bit into it anyway. To her surprise, the taste wasn't half bad despite the mushy texture. Just as juice began to dribble down her chin, there was a knock on the door, and then it opened.

It was Dr. Perpetually Annoyed, and she seemed even less impressed than usual by Shepard's deer-in-the-headlights look, complete with apple frozen in mouth. "Don't mind me," she said briskly, and began checking the various machines that beeped a soft chorus. Shepard shot her an irritated look—how, exactly, was she supposed to eat with someone poking around everywhere?—but attempted to follow the advice.

Finally, the apple conquered, Shepard turned her attention to the jello that had been sitting in a temptingly bright, wiggling blob in the corner of the tray. It wasn't exactly double chocolate raspberry flourless cake with vanilla crème, but it was sugar. And after the atrocity of the preceding meal, she would take it.

Just as she placed the first wobbling sporkful in her mouth, a familiar head poked in the door.

"Gwaawus!" she mumbled in surprise around the cold, squishy jello, and then promptly began choking on it.

The doctor's agitated sigh could have knocked down a krogan from ten paces, but she helpfully handed Shepard her cup of water as the Spectre hacked and coughed. Tears began to well again, although at least this time it was from the sudden pain and not the onset of another emotional outburst.

"Uuuughh," Shepard said, finally managing to get the jello down, and then she flopped back onto the bed and began sucking determinedly on the straw. The doctor crossed her arms and leveled a glare at Garrus.

"Five minutes," she ordered, holding up the appropriate number of fingers for emphasis, and then she swept out of the room.

Garrus turned to watch her go, and then slowly advanced into the room, hands behind his back and a sheepish look on his face. Shepard raised an eyebrow at him curiously.

"She's not the happiest person around, is she?" he ventured, almost hesitantly, and Shepard felt herself melting just a little more at the realization that he was nervous. Probably worried he'd set off another round of sobbing. The fact that she'd never done such a thing in all the time they'd known each other meant that this was a completely new experience for him. Sure, he'd no doubt encountered hysterical women during his time as a C-Sec officer, but he'd never been _dating_ one of them. His knowledge of how to deal with it probably stopped at "make sure they don't cross the police tape, and if they get violent, restrain them."

Not very helpful here.

"Well, can't blame 'er…I'm not the best patient 'round," she said in response to his question, and then she smiled reassuringly at him. "Whatcha got there?"

From behind his back, Garrus produced a bouquet of white and blue flowers. The scent wafted over the bed, and Shepard sniffed appreciatively, her smile widening to a crooked grin.

"It was pretty hard to find real flowers on this ball of ice, but I'm fairly sure that they're a traditional human gift for people in the hospital."

"D'awwww." And she accepted the bunch from him, burying her nose right into the middle and inhaling deeply. "That's really sweet, Garrus. I 'preciate it."

The turian looked pleased. "I'm glad you like them, _cicer_."

That did it. The tears started to come back in full force, and Shepard choked back a sob. Garrus' bewildered expression only made her feel worse, and in frustration she banged her head back against the pillow several times. _I am so _not_ the weepy type! Stop it, self!_ If she weren't clutching the flowers in one hand and tied down by the IV in the other, she might have slapped herself.

Finally, with supreme effort, she swallowed the hiccups and dried her eyes on a sleeve.

"Did…did I do something wrong?" Garrus ventured, and she shook her head almost violently.

"No…you're the perfect boyfren', Garrus."

He sank down into the nearest chair and leaned forward earnestly. "Then what's wrong? I've never seen you so upset. I mean, even when Ambassador Udina stabbed you in the back, you were just angry. But nothing that bad is going on here…" Then he paused. "Is it?"

"No…" Shepard sighed and looked down at the flowers. She played with one of them absently and bit her lip, wanting now more than ever to _not_ have this conversation. "I'm the worst girlfriend ever!" It was half-wail, half sob, and then before Garrus could hastily assure her that she was, in fact, not, she began to recount her entire stay on Noveria.

From the legal battle with Saren's estate for Binary Helix, to her semi-nefarious plans, to the resurrection of Nihlus, dinner with Lorik, and the drinking session with Nihlus again, it all spewed out like water from a fire hose. It was a long story, made even longer by the fact that she periodically had to stop and blow her nose, send the doctor away again, or repeat what she'd said because it had been babbled too fast for Garrus to understand. By the time she got to the end, she was bawling yet _again_ and fairly sure that the last half of the awful tale, at the least, had been nigh-incomprehensible. With a final hiccup, she drew her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, and plonked her head down, ignoring the pain that flared up. She was still holding the flowers.

For a long moment, there was silence except for the unhappy, uneven bleeping of the heart monitor. Garrus' chair creaked. Shepard inexplicably sneezed, and banged her head against her knees in the process. The hole in her neck protested angrily.

Then there was a _screech-crash!_ as Garrus' chair went flying backwards.

"_What?!_"

There was a stomping sound, and then a bang as Garrus angrily righted the chair. Shepard kept her head firmly on her knees, suddenly feeling extremely tired.

"What's going on in here?!" It was Dr. No Nonsense's voice at the door.

"_Out!"_ Garrus roared, and Shepard raised her head just in time to see the doctor hold up a warning hand, flickering blue, as the turian advanced.

"I'll call security if I ha—"

The door slid shut. Garrus turned, and Shepard sunk down into the bed as far as she could. Her face felt incredibly hot. Garrus crossed his arms and began to pace in front of the door, his expression inscrutable.

Shepard stared at her knees and tried to think of something to say. 'I'm sorry' sounded pathetically inadequate. 'Please forgive me!' was somewhat sniveling. 'Well, Nihlus is _hot_' was—no. Not even an option for _thinking._

"Why, Shepard?" He said it quietly, and took a breath afterward as if to say more, but nothing further came out.

She scrunched her face up and stared even harder at her knees. Her mind had gone blank, and after a moment of casting about for an answer (anything at all to allay that burning glare of his), she finally mumbled, "I guess I was…getting…bored…"

"Bored."

The flatness of his voice was almost worse than wrathful bellowing, and Shepard sniffled and forced herself to lift her head. "I, um…." She frowned, suddenly feeling a spike of anger at her sudden weakness. Had she hesitated on Virmire when she'd had to choose between Ashley and Kaidan? This wasn't even a life or death decision. _Grow a pair, Shepard!_ she ordered herself with her best drill-seargent voice, and straightened abruptly. She was Commander Shepard, Savior of the Galaxy. She ate krogan for breakfast, geth for lunch, and Reapers for dinner with traitorous Spectres for dessert. She could handle this.

Garrus could obviously see the change in her demeanor, because he unconsciously straightened as well and, to her surprise, relaxed just a fraction. _Must make him really uncomfortable when I'm losing it._

"When was the last time we did something fun together, Garrus? Shook up the routine a little? When did we even get _into_ a routine? A routine of going to meetings and occasionally taking out some small fry? That _is_ boring!" She stopped to take a deep breath and consciously forced herself to continue in a less shrill tone. "But that's no excuse for…everything."

Garrus' left mandible twitched, a sure sign that he was trying to remain calm and consider her words before leaping to the defensive.

"That's…well, I…" He exhaled, and then his shoulders slumped and he seemed to deflate. "So…Nihlus isn't boring, I take it."

Shepard cleared her throat and tried very hard not to remember the feel of Nihlus' fingers in her hair. "I like Nihlus. A lot." She slowly lay back on the bed again, and her neck finally stopped sending pain shooting down her back. "I have since I first met him. He was, well…my first turian crush, sorta. And he's a great guy. Actually, I think you'd like him a lot." She sighed a little and looked down at the flowers. Miraculously, they were unmangled. She stroked one of the petals absently. "But, um…"

There was another momentary silence, and then she finally burst. "Well Garrus, the fact is that you're the most amazing guy in the galaxy and I'm just totally stupid for ever thinking otherwise!"

And she started crying again.

Awkwardly, Garrus reached out and patted her knee. She sniffled and looked down at the flowers, unable to meet his gaze, and ineffectually wiped her face with one hand. At least it was a more silent stream now instead of the hysterical, racking sobs she'd had earlier.

"Shepard," Garrus said hesitantly after a moment, "are you…" He cleared his throat delicately. "Are you on your period?"

Shepard stared at him, frozen by the completely out-of-nowhere question, and then, unable to stop herself, she started snorting with laughter. The tears continued to stream down her face, but this time they were a product of the bizarre query, and she found herself unable to stop even though her abs began to ache.

Out of the corner of her eye, in between gasps for breath, she could see a bewildered Garrus sit back in his chair, scratching a mandible in puzzlement. Finally, she managed to control her laughter and she leaned back in the bed, blinking further moisture from her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Garrus," she wheezed, clutching her protesting stomach. "It's just…" and she shook her head. "I just told you that I've been running around with other guys, but will you please take me back because I've been a moron, and you're asking me if I'm on my _period?_" She paused and bit her lip, scrunching her face up in thought for a second. "Actually, I think it's just coming up."

Garrus held up his hands defensively. "I've just never seen you so…emotional! I don't think I've ever seen you cry so much before. Or at all, even."

She shook her head again, her hair--stringy and in dire need of a washing--sticking to her wet cheeks in sticky clumps. She smoothed them back automatically. "No, no. It was a very…perceptive question. It was thoughtful of you to ask. Especially since you're right."

Unbidden, the memory of her first shopping trip with Garrus sprang to mind, and she tried to bite down a grin. They'd been going up and down every aisle of the store, finding out what each of them liked to buy, and Shepard had been debating over which color of rubber ducky to purchase. Garrus had idly picked up a package of tampons and waved them at her.

"Shepard," he'd inquired innocently, "what are these for? They have humans on them, but there's no obvious purpose." He'd eyed the plastic wrapper quizzically. "'New, uniquely shaped applicator for a uniquely shaped you?' I don't understand."

Shepard had stared at him, hand clapped over her mouth, trying desperately to muffle her startled laughter. Down the aisle, several other shoppers were having similar reactions, except without the same success at laugh-suppressing. One of them dashed out of the aisle and could faintly be heard guffawing from the toothbrush racks.

"Well, uh, you see…we women…uh…" She'd trailed off into stifled chuckles, and he'd stood there holding the package innocently, looking completely confused at the reactions of everyone else. She'd had to give him a crash course in female human physiology right there in the hygiene aisle. The rest of the shopping trip had been an exercise in awkward silences.

He'd become surprisingly comfortable with the idea, though. _Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm an alien to him. Some human boyfriends are considerably more grossed out by periods…_

Garrus tapped his mandibles in some satisfaction, although she could see he was still a little unnerved. She sighed a little, hiccupped the last of the laughter, and gazed at him as evenly as she could. "So I guess now it's my turn to ask you, Garrus. How do you feel about me? And us?"

He rose from his chair once more and began to slowly pace in front of the door. Shepard looked down at the flowers and began to nervously play with one of them again. A faint spray of pollen drifted up, and she hastily swallowed a sneeze.

Finally Garrus paused in his pacing and absently stroked his pistol (a habit he'd picked up from her, Shepard noted with some detached amusement). "I…I'm disappointed. I…can't help but feel like I'm not…good enough. I mean, if you had to go to another man then there must really be something I—"

"_No,_ Garrus," she interrupted firmly, arming herself with her best Commander voice once more and holding up a forestalling hand. The horrible, crushed smallness in his voice stabbed her like no violent outburst could ever have done. "Absolutely not. Don't blame yourself for my thoughtless, short attention span. I got too comfortable. Kinda complacent. It's not really my thing, you know?"

Garrus nodded slowly, but he didn't look convinced.

"But look. Just because things have gotten too…'normal' for me does _not _mean that you're the problem and that the solution is for me to go off and have a fling with another turian." She straightened abruptly, feeling a sudden surge of energy fueled by determination. "In fact, the answer is to tell the brass that I've had enough of their stupid paperwork and that I'd better get a _real _assignment right now, or by Jove I'm taking the Normandy and my crew, and I'm going to go right some injustice whether they like it or not!" She punctuated the enthusiastic words with an emphatic fist-pound on the railing. Then she sighed and slumped into a less poised position. "As soon as I can actually move around without bleeding to death, anyway. And, um…" she peered up at Garrus. "And if you want to come with me. I'm sorry I've been such an ass. It totally wasn't your fault. You should be really pissed at me."

Garrus let out a breath that he seemed to have been holding for a while, and then he dropped back into his chair, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Maybe I should have seen it, though…I've just been so wrapped up in my Spectre training. We hardly spent two minutes with each other the week before you left to come here. Whenever we are together, I'm too tired to do anything with you…or I just talk about my day…"

"And I've just been whining for the past six months about how much I hate meetings! Of course you'd tune me out after a while. It's not like I've been taking much initiative either."

They sat in somewhat frustrated silence for a moment, regarding each other uncomfortably. Garrus was the first to break the stillness.

"You're bleeding again," he said, and he reached out to touch her neck gently. She winced.

"Thanks a lot. I didn't even notice the pain until you said something," she said dryly, and gingerly felt the sticky bandage. Garrus looked at his finger and the spot of dark red that he'd wiped from her skin, and then he sighed a little and clasped his hands tightly.

"I guess neither one of us is perfect. And…I'm not really sure how I feel about…everything." He gestured vaguely. "But I do know that I don't like this…" He made more vague, frustrated motions, and then threw his hands in the air. "I don't know! I'm not good at this, Shepard."

"Me neither," she sighed, and thought to herself that if this were one of her romance novels, the conversation would end with them making out on the bed and then everything would be fine. But she looked like crap, and she had a hole in her neck, and they were in a _hospital_, and this was real life and romance novels weren't really applicable.

"I guess the bottom line is,we both have problems to work out." Garrus tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair, his expression pained. "But…at least now we know what we need to do better. And…we can make it work. _I_ want to make it work. I…" He swallowed. "I forgive you. And I hope you'll forgive me for not being there for you."

Shepard suppressed a half-eye-roll even as she smiled at him. Trust a turian to think it was somehow _his_ fault. "Thank you…and of _course_ I do. For any offense, real or imagined." She managed a smile and, after propping the flowers up against her knees, held out her hand to him.

He took it in his, and they solemnly shook on it.

Then the door whooshed open, and Dr. Incredibly Pissed swept in with a presence like a thundercloud. "You," she said to Garrus with a voice that could freeze Therum over, "out. Now." And she thrust one finger at the door as if she really wanted to stab him in the eye with it. "Your five minutes were up long ago."

Garrus looked from Shepard to the doctor and back again, and she mustered up a smile and a nod. "I'll see you soon, Shepard," he promised, and with a final squeeze of her hand, he left the room.

The asari watched him go, and then she turned to Shepard, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. "Did you get everything straightened out?"

Shepard gnawed on her lip again despite the bloody taste. "It's a start, anyway."

"Good." It might have been Shepard's imagination, but she thought the doctor's expression softened just a little. Only for a second. "Because you can't have any more visitors. I don't want this wound reopening _again_, and it seems to happen whenever someone comes to see you. Now," and she ignored Shepard's small sounds of protest, "let's see how much damage you've done this time."


	14. In Which Shepard Pulls Rank

**Chapter 14: In Which Shepard Pulls Rank**

Half an hour later, Shepard's neck was securely bandaged once more and the doctor had foisted a neck brace on her.

"But it's so _undignified!_" she'd protested, and the asari had just snorted and muttered some derogatory comment that she hadn't quite caught.

Despite herself, Shepard found she was growing fond of the crotchety asari. She reminded her a little of Dr. Chakwas. _I wonder how my bonsai tree is doing,_ she wondered as she lay in the bed, bored silly and playing with the straw from her water cup to amuse herself. It was a bendy straw, which was an obvious plus—she refused to buy any other kind back on the Citadel, which confused Garrus to no end. He'd had a hard time grasping the concept of a straw the first time she'd gotten them—turian mouths didn't really lend themselves to straw usage. No lips. _Inconvenient for other things, too_, she thought with a regretful sigh.

But the straw was almost at the end of its life. Shepard had bent its bendy neck into every amusing shape she could, and the bendy parts had eventually cracked and bent no more; then she'd tied it into knots, and flattened it out again, and chewed on it for a little bit, and tied it into some more knots. It looked as little like a straw as a straw could. It was moments away from falling into pieces.

With a despondent sigh, she dropped the mangled thing back into the empty cup, and then resumed staring at the ceiling. It was still a very boring ceiling, just as it had been twenty minutes ago. It would be nice, she thought to herself, if the hospital would install a screen above the beds so the patient could watch something while they convalesced. She had a hankering for one of the old turian crime dramas that she and Garrus liked to curl up and watch together (not that the turians had many dramas that _weren't_ either military- or crime-related—forget a good romantic comedy, not that humans really had those either). "At this point, I'd settle for a crossword puzzle," she muttered, and wiggled her toes just to do something.

The doctor had been true to her word about the restriction on visitors. Lorik and Rana had both come by and been turned away, although Shepard got the report later. She'd been glad to hear that Rana had escaped the Situation up at Peak 15. Perhaps the asari was becoming accustomed to her life being threatened because of her job.

Shepard leaned over and jabbed the call button for the twenty-sixth time.

"Yes, Spectre?" It was said with a sigh by a rather tired-sounding female voice. They'd given up on actually appearing in the room after the fifth time. Now they just chastised her from over the comm.

"Can't I at least have some music in here or something? A couple of Christmas songs, anything?"

Another long-suffering sigh. "I'll see what I can do for you, Spectre."

"Thank youuu!" Shepard chirped, as obnoxiously cheerful as she could manage, and then she settled back down on the bed and pulled the blanket up. While she was waiting, she began to hum _O Come, O Come Emmanuel_. Halfway through the second verse, she was interrupted by the beginning of some soothing music full of flutes and soft harp strummings and water rushing over rocks. She listened a moment before nodding a little to herself. It would do, at least. If nothing else, it might lull her to sleep. Since there was _nothing _else to do.

Then a thought occurred to her, and she leaned over once more and pushed the call button. "Hey, guys." She had no idea how many people might be hearing her, but it didn't really matter, she supposed.

"Yes, Spectre?" The voice sounded like its owner was moments away from punching the nearest object.

"I can't have visitors in here, right? So bring me a wheelchair or a walker or a cane or something, 'cause I've got people to see and places to go and I'm not sitting in this bed any longer."

"I'm afraid I can't do that without Dr. Tius' author—"

"Now listen to me, lady," and Shepard leaned closer to the call button. "I'm a Spectre, and that means I can do what I darn well please without Dr. Crankyface's approval. Now, if you don't bring me some assistance in the next thirty seconds, so help me I'm gonna hobble on out of here all by myself. I'll beat you all off with a chair leg if you try to stop me."

No response. "Hah," Shepard said, and lay back on the bed again, ignoring the sudden spots before her eyes. _No neck wound can keep me down…one…two…three…_

She got to forty-three before the door whooshed open and Dr. Angry Eyes herself marched in. Shepard smiled perkily at her and sat up in anticipation. It was hard to be perky with a neck brace on, but she managed.

"Commander Shepard, I cannot stress how important it is that you not excite yourself for the next few days. Stitches, medi-gel, and superglue can only do so much to hold your neck together. If you continue to agitate it, you may end up with permanent damage—"

"Okay! I get it. Be careful, you're not responsible if I kill myself, and so on. I won't sue you, I promise. But I'm outta here whether you give the thumbs up or not. My ship's gonna be here before too long anyway. And I want one last, real shower before I leave this fabulous planet. So whatcha got for me?"

The asari's mouth was a thin, unhappy line as she glared at her recalcitrant patient, but finally she stepped aside and motioned to someone unseen in the hallway. A human orderly wheeled a motorized wheelchair, and Shepard nodded in approval.

"That'll work. Not as much oomph as my usual vehicle, but it'll do for now."

The orderly bustled about disconnecting Shepard from the IV and other machines while the doctor stood at the doorway, arms crossed and watching everything with the eyes of a hawk. Freed of entanglements, Shepard slowly climbed off the bed. The orderly hovered fretfully, unwilling to touch her without invitation, but she somehow managed to get into the chair without falling flat on her face.

"You now, when I was a kid, I always wanted to knock some granny off her wheelchair and have a race with one of my friends," she said with a nostalgic sigh, patting the armrest of the sleek black machine. "I bet every kid wants to do that at some point. Even you, doctor." And she grinned cheekily at the asari, who only scoffed.

"I was not an unruly hooligan as a child. I suspect that is mostly a human trait, and one that you unfortunately do not always grow out of."

It only took a minute for the orderly to nervously explain the controls to Shepard, who nodded impatiently through the whole thing. "I can drive an APC the size of an elephant through mountains that would make Lewis and Clark want to cry, I think I can handle this sucker," she declared, and then she zipped out the door.

The maximum speed on the wheelchair was disappointingly low, but at least she was mobile once more. Out in the hallway, unhampered by fixed objects like beds (the nurses that scurried by got out of the way easily enough), she gave it a few experimental spins. _No hair-trigger response, but I guess that's okay. It's just a wheelchair, after all. Not meant for evading thresher maws._

Dr. Disapproving Frown and the orderly followed her out into the hallway, the former crossing her arms once more, although Shepard was sure she saw the corner of her mouth twitching. "Take two of these every six hours." The orderly produced a bottle of pills from nowhere and handed them to Shepard. "Try not to get the bandage wet. When you re-open the wound, as you no doubt will, come back here _immediately_ if you're still on-planet. Otherwise, your shipboard doctor will have to handle it." Her tone made clear what she thought the likely outcome of _that_ would be. "We'll contact Mr. Vakarian and ask him to bring you a change of clothes. In the meantime, I'm sure you'll take the liberty of exploring the floor whether I give permission or not."

"Just think of it this way, doctor: at least I'll be out of your hair. Uhh, head…things…anyway. I'll be out of your way and won't be giving you any more ulcers. Really, though, thanks for sewing me up. Repeatedly."

The doctor pursed her lips, and then she exhaled and her expression softened just a little. "Well, you're welcome, I suppose. I do appreciate a challenge on occasion. Now," and she straightened again, brusque manner back full-force, "I need to call Mr. Vakarian. Christine can assist you if you require anything." Then she turned and marched off down the hallway. Shepard watched her go, then she turned to Christine the orderly with a grin.

"I like her." Then she started doing donuts in the middle of the hallway.

* * *

When Garrus showed up not fifteen minutes later, Shepard had parked her chair in front of a window and was gazing outside, fingers drumming and feet tapping to the tune of _Hark! The Herald Angels Sing_ as she hummed. She didn't see him at first, wrapped up as she was in watching the snow fly past; then she noticed his reflection in the glass as he watched her silently, a bundle of clothing clutched forgotten in his hands. She straightened and spun the chair with a smile.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Oh." He looked a bit sheepish and suddenly examined his toes. "Well, not long. I…didn't want to interrupt you. I know you love the snow, and the _Normandy_ will be here in a few hours, so…" There was a pause, and then he thrust the clothes toward her. "I brought you some clean BDU's."

Shepard accepted the haphazardly-folded pile gratefully. "Thanks. Do you know what they did with my stuff? Armor, guns?"

"They just sent it all to your hotel room. I looked over it first—everything's there, and in proper working order. Your armor's going to need some repairs, though—they cut the neck up pretty bad when they were trying to get it off you."

"Hm…maybe I'll just buy a new set. I like that Mercenary stuff, but I've had my eye on a nice piece of heavy Ursa lately…" She raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you think? Will I be up for armor shopping by the time we get back to the Citadel?"

He chuckled softly. "You're always up for spending money. But you should take it easy, _cicer_. If you exert yourself too soon, it'll just take longer to heal."

"Bahhh." She waved a hand at him dismissively, but she was smiling. "Why do you have to be the voice of reason? I know if it were you in the chair, you'd be chomping at the bit too."

"Yeah, true enough. I guess it's bound to happen some time, though. You'll have to be _my_ voice of reason, then."

Shepard nodded silently, and for a moment they just stayed there in front of the window, his hand on her shoulder, watching the snow. It was true, she mused, that they'd both been quite lucky—_skilled, not _lucky_, skilled_—in that neither had been seriously injured despite the grave danger inherent in their line of work. Chasing Saren all through the Traverse and running into zombies (not one but _two_ kinds), insane cockroaches the size of ponies, carnivorous worms big enough to swallow the Mako whole, and a sentient mind-controlling plant—it was a simple matter of odds. Eventually, somebody would get seriously hurt.

_Guess Ash took that one for all of us,_ she thought with a sigh, glum once more. Garrus looked down at her quizzically.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh. Nothin' really…just…reminiscing." She sighed again and then looked up at him. "Well, enough depressing thoughts. You got your knitting stuff? I'm ready to change and get out of here. I'm itching for a shower. Or a bath at least. I must look like something the cat dragged in."

Garrus' mandibles twitched, but he kept any comments about her appearance to himself. "I left it in the room. I'll get it after you change."

She grinned at him and spun the wheelchair. "I would say 'race you there,' but I think the doctor would kill me. Slowly and painfully."

Garrus snorted in agreement, and they went at a more sedate pace.

* * *

Shepard's hotel room was unsurprisingly spotless, despite the fact that she had left it in a state of mess and confusion. The clothes that had been piled haphazardly on chairs had been washed and hung up; the bed was made with crisp, clean sheets that smelled like some alien wildflower; the bathroom was sparkling and all her assorted soaps had been neatly lined up on the counter. Various bouquets of flowers had been arranged about the room, each with a different tag and "Get well soon!" card. Binary Helix had sent her a box of very expensive asari chocolates; Synthetic Insights, a bottle of wine from France. Shepard immediately wheeled over to the chocolates and gleefully cracked the box open.

"Somebody in PR needs a raise," she told Garrus through a mouthful of dark chocolate truffle. "This is one of the most amazing things I've ever eaten. Maybe I should get shot more often."

"Please don't," Garrus said hastily, and she laughed at his alarmed expression.

"Too bad they didn't think to send anything for you. I mean, you saved my butt. If I'd died on Peak 15, the Council would've come down on this planet like the fist of God." She paused and thought for a moment. "Well, I hope they would, anyway. The turian councilor would probably want to give them all medals."

Garrus chuckled. "I don't know…ever since you saved his sorry life during the battle with Sovereign, he's been pretty respectful. Maybe you actually took him down a notch."

"Nahh." She waved a chocolate at him. "He's just lying low, waiting for his chance to bump me off without throwing suspicion on himself. He's probably sitting in his posh apartment back on the Citadel, reading some report about the incident here, cursing you for showing up just in time. Better watch out, he'll be gunning for you next."

Garrus shook his head in amusement. "I certainly hope not. But if he is, well. At least it'll give us something to do."

"Sounds exciting." She popped the second chocolate into her mouth. "And now I really need to clean up, because I think I can smell myself and it ain't pretty. You have a room here?"

"No, I started asking about you as soon as I arrived. The administrator told me what had happened and I headed for Peak 15 right away."

"Well, no sense getting another room, I guess." She paused as a thought occurred to her. "How'd you get here, anyway?"

"I…" He hesitated, and then, his tone sheepish, he admitted, "I…borrowed…an impounded personal transport from C-Sec."

Shepard stared at him for a moment, and then she guffawed. "You _stole_ a ship from your former employer? _Garrus!_" But she was laughing too hard for the scolding to carry any real weight.

"I didn't _steal _it," he protested. "I just had to…pull a few strings. Call in a couple favors."

"Sneak around a few patrols?" she asked dryly.

He examined his feet. "Maybe…one or two…"

Shepard shook her head and snickered. "Well, I certainly appreciate it. Did you manage to get yourself aboard with more than just a ball of yarn and some knitting needles?"

Garrus looked down at the objects in his hands as if he'd forgotten he held them. "Oh. Yeah. Everything's still on the ship."

"Why don't you go get it while I shower, and then maybe we can get some real dinner. Because that hospital food…" She made a face at the memory. "Really didn't cut it."

"All right. I'll be back in a few, then." He set the knitting project down on the nearest table and headed for the door. Shepard watched him go, and then reluctantly forced herself to close the box of chocolates. She'd been lamenting about gaining weight, hadn't she?

"No need to make it any worse," she sighed, and then wheeled off toward the bathroom.

* * *

As the hot water began filling up the tub, Shepard turned to the mirror to examine the damage. "Good thing I don't have any interviews planned," she muttered as she gingerly touched her neck

It took extreme willpower for her to resist the urge to peel the dressing off and look at the wound. It was a behemoth of a bandage, a swaddling of white gauze that wrapped all the way from just under her chin to the nape of her neck, firmly taped down from ear to shoulder. The hint of a bruise showed at the top, a purplish-red splotch on her jaw. The other side of her face was mottled with black and yellow on her cheek and forehead; her hair, allowed to roam loose while she lay in the hospital bed, was a wildly unkempt mess. Her chipped tooth was the icing on the cake.

With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror and began peeling off her clothes, which she tossed carelessly in a pile next to the discarded neckbrace on the counter. "Hmm…which soap to use?" She pondered the lineup for a moment before picking one at random. "'Myrrh and Rose Petals?' Well, sounds nice. And Christmas-y." She gave it an experimental sniff and then, satisfied, stepped into the tub.

"Too bad I didn't bring my ducky."

Even without the rubber ducky, she enjoyed the bath to the fullest, although it was somewhat unfulfilling due to her inability to get wet above her shoulders. After several minutes of futile attempts to dampen her hair without dousing her neck, she gave up on washing it fully; it would have to wait until later. When she could wrangle Garrus into assisting her.

When she'd scrubbed herself from shoulders to toes and her fingers were finally starting to wrinkle, she forced herself out of the tub and into the comfort of an incredibly fluffy bathrobe. "I need to get a couple of these for the _Normandy_," she mused, examining her reflection once more. Her face was no better despite a careful patting with a washcloth, but her hair lay in some semblance of order and she felt much improved.

"I wonder what's taking Garrus so long..."

She moseyed out of the bathroom and suppressed a yawn. Despite her earlier suggestion of dinner, what she really wanted was a nice long nap. _Even though I practically forced my way out of the hospital because I didn't want to lie around any more. Ugh._ She really hated being injured and hopped up on painkillers.

The doorbell chimed. "Open," she called, and leaned down to sniff one of the flower arrangements that sat on a side table. _Guess I'll need to get a key for Garrus if the _Normandy _isn't going to get here for another day or so._ She examined the tag that was tied to the neck of the vase. "Hey, even Opold sent flowers! I guess he hasn't forgotten that I bought those inferno rounds fr—"

"_Shut up,_" snarled the figure in the hallway. It was definitely not Garrus.

Shepard spun to face him, hands immediately reaching for her gun.

Which was on the coffee table behind her, ten feet away.


	15. In Which Shepard Kicks Ass in a Bathrobe

**Chapter 15: In Which Shepard Kicks Ass in a Bathrobe**

The human advanced slowly, pistol clutched in both hands, trembling ever-so-slightly despite his chokehold on it. The smell of alcohol drifted ahead of him. Shepard suddenly became acutely aware of the fact that she was no longer tired at all, and she was facing an angry, drunk, armed man while she wore nothing but a bathrobe and her weapons were all out of reach.

She'd never wished harder in her life to be a biotic. Who _was_ this guy, anyway? He looked familiar--

"Not so high and mighty without all your _Spectre_ gear and an _alien_ to back you up, huh?" he sneered, closing the gap. "You're nothin' special…just some self-righteous, arrogant brown-noser…sucking up to the _Council_ no matter who gets in your way…"

The words jogged a memory to the surface of her painkiller-subdued memory. _Right. The ERCS guard who had a thing for Stirling...what was his name? Strahovsky. I think. _Shepard surreptitiously edged backward toward the coffee table. If he weren't under the influence, she didn't think her chances of talking him down would be bad, but as he was…

Not good.

"Heyy, take it easy, Strahovsky…" Couldn't hurt to try, though. She only had to keep him distracted for another nine feet… "I'm really very sorry that Stirling, ah, got in my way, but—"

"Yeah, yeah, sure you are. You _will_ be," the ERCS guard growled. "Y'know, I'm not the only one who's pissed. We're a pretty loyal group…I got some buddies who'd love to take turns _guarding_ you."

"Oh, _please_." It was definitely the wrong thing to say, but she couldn't contain her eyeroll of disgust. "Stirling was between me and my goal, which, by the way, was the _safety of the galaxy_, you know what that means, genius? If she'd actually stopped me you'd both be just a spot of grease, 'cause this planet would've been turned into a ball of slag by now—"

Strahovsky roared an invective that would make a drill sergeant proud, and the nose of the pistol wobbled. "You know how many times you shot her? _Eleven_. And that was _before_—" He made a strangled sound of incoherent rage. "We could hardly even tell it was her. Maybe I should just return the favor, huh?"

Shepard eyed the distance between them. The coffee table was just eight feet away. The minibar was closer—just a few feet to her right. She tried to remember if there was a knife lying on it.

"Don't even think about it," Strahovsky hissed, adjusting his grip on the pistol.

"What's wrong, getting nervous? Hands a little sweaty? Maybe you ought to put that thing down before you hurt yourself, sunshine," Shepard shot back, and Strahovsky's already-flushed face turned beet red as he swelled up, nostrils flaring and blood vessels throbbing in his temple.

"_You—_" and then the door chime rang, unnaturally shrill, and Strahovsky started and half-turned. The pistol wavered. Shepard lunged forward. Her left hand clamped around his wrist and twisted, and she spun into him, using her momentum to throw him off balance as she slammed her right hand up into his elbow.

His arm broke with a wet crack.

Strahovsky's shriek of pain was abruptly cut off as Shepard smashed the back of her head into his face for good measure, and then she wrenched the pistol from his hand and spun to face him. He'd already fallen to his knees with a moan, left hand clutching at his bloody face and broken arm hanging awkwardly. Shepard raised the pistol.

The door chimed again.

Shepard gritted her teeth as pain suddenly won over adrenaline and painkillers; her neck felt like someone was stabbing her with broken glass, and the back of her head throbbed. The bathrobe felt warm and wet against her shoulder. Strahovsky mumbled something through the blood streaming down his face and between his fingers; Shepard regarded him over the barrel of the pistol silently for a moment, lips pursed. The doorbell rang again, this time accompanied by several sharp knocks.

Finally she sighed regretfully and straightened. "I guess I'll let you live, you dumb punk. You can be a warning to your all your 'loyal buddies' that it's always a bad idea to mess with a Spectre." She looked down at the pistol and chuckled under her breath. "Especially with a piece of crap gun like this."

She carefully retreated the remaining eight feet to the coffee table and traded the pistol for her own HMWSG. She trained it on the door. "Open."

The door slid open, and Garrus rushed in, his own pistol at the ready, only to stop short at the sight that greeted him. "What…Shepard? What's going on? Who is this guy?"

She rested the shotgun on her shoulder and planted her free hand on her hip with a grin. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that she was wearing a bathrobe. "Don't worry, you didn't miss anything. Just a little misunderstanding. It's all cleared up now…right, Strahovsky?"

The guard lurched to his feet with a snarl, his breaths coming shallow and accompanied by a wheezing burble. Blood was streaming down face and dripping off his chin. "You'll regret this," he mumbled, and spat a stream of blood and saliva.

"You're not making a good case for me _not_ to splatter your brains all over the wall, my man. Garrus, keep an eye on him?"

The turian nodded and trained his pistol on the back of Strahovsky's head as Shepard went to the comm and tapped the number for Matsuo's office. It beeped twice before the Captain appeared on the screen.

"Spectre. What can I do for you today?"

"Well, I've got one of your employees, Strahovsky, here in my hotel room, bleeding all over my floor. It's a biological hazard. Can you come pick him up?"

The normally staid Matsuo was taken aback, and for a moment she blinked at Shepard, mouth halfway open. "Could you…elaborate on the situation, Commander?"

"Seems he's been nursing a grudge since last year. He came in drunk and armed, looking for a fight. He's got a broken arm and a busted nose, but otherwise I think he'll live. I'd just like to make sure that he gets taken care of by some upstanding citizens, not some of his friends, if you know what I mean."

Matsuo nodded briskly. "Of course. I'll send some of my people over immediately."

* * *

Ten minutes later, a pair of no-nonsense ERCS turians had wrestled Strahovsky out the door none-too-gently, and Shepard smothered a yawn. Garrus holstered his pistol at last and gently put a hand on her shoulder.

"You're bleeding again, Shepard. Are you all right?"

"Ugh, I forgot." She touched the bandage and then looked at her red fingers with a grimace. "Yeah, I think I could use another shot of painkillers. I hope the hotel doesn't charge me for this bathrobe…"

Garrus shook his head disbelievingly. "You just defeated an armed lunatic while wearing nothing but a…glorified towel, re-opening your wound in the process, and you're worried about the robe? You should get back to the doctor—"

"_Ab_solutely not," Shepard declared, holding up a hand. "Just give me a squirt of medi-gel. I just got out of that place half an hour ago; I'm not going back already. I probably just popped a few stitches."

"At least sit down, _cicer_," he said firmly, and gently guided her to the couch. She went without much protestation. Garrus sat next to her and gently began peeling off the tape and gauze. Shepard wrinkled her nose at the pinpricks of pain that accompanied the removal. The medi-gel was cold on the wound, and she winced, eliciting a murmured apology from Garrus; then blissful numbness spread across her neck and she sighed.

"Much better."

Garrus looked down at the old bandage in his hands. "I guess I'll have to ask the front desk to send up some more gauze…unless this room has a first-aid kit in it somewhere."

"Oh, forget about it," Shepard said, smothering another yawn, and then she grabbed his hand and hauled herself off the couch. "You can do that after you help me wash my hair. I'm not going to dinner looking like this."

"Wash your—_how_ am I going to help you do that?" Garrus asked, bewildered, as she marched off toward the bathroom.

"In the tub, silly!"

It worked better than she'd expected. Still clad in the bathrobe, she knelt by the side of the tub, crossed her arms on its wide lip, and rested her head on them. Her hair spilled down the side and pooled at the bottom. "Just don't yank," she told Garrus, who looked incredibly apprehensive about the whole affair. The sight of the usually intrepid turian nervously holding the detachable shower head in one hand and a bottle of pink shampoo in the other made her wish for a camera.

"If you really think this is a good idea…" and then he began spraying her hair with the warm water. She peered under her elbow at the dark strands as they tried to flow toward the drain. _Yep, it's going to be tangled,_ she thought regretfully. Then again, she knew from experience that Garrus would be all-too-happy to help her comb it. _Turians and their weird fascination with hair. Oh well, I'm not complaining…_

It was an oddly soothing process. The relaxing warmth and the rhythm of the water pounding had her halfway asleep before Garrus finally asked, "Is it…wet enough?"

"Mm…mmhmmm." Water was trickling in rivulets down her face. She closed her eyes as Garrus' fingers slowly began to massage through her hair, and shivers tingled down her spine. His breath tickled the back of her neck, and she exhaled sharply. He paused.

"What's wrong?" His voice was just next to her ear, and up close she could hear the double burr in his voice exceptionally well. If she'd been standing, her knees would have gone weak. She took a slow breath.

"Nothing…this just feels really amazing. Don't stop…"

"Ahh." The massaging resumed, steadier now, Garrus apparently reassured that he couldn't go wrong. For several minutes, the only sound was the rushing of the water and Shepard's occasional hum of appreciation.

"Are you still awake?"

Shepard almost jumped at the amused question. She had indeed been drifting off.

"Oh…yeah. Sorta," she mumbled into her arms, and cracked an eye open to peek at the hair rippling gently in the tub. The water was running clean. "Oh. Looks like it's all rinsed out, huh?"

"Yes," he responded dryly. "I think it has been for the past five minutes. But you seemed so comfortable I thought you might be annoyed if I stopped."

"Hnn. Well, all good things must come to an end, right?" Reluctantly, she raised her head. Her hair, squeezed out but still dripping, hung over her face like a soggy curtain. Garrus snickered.

"I heard that!" She shook a finger at him and reached blindly for a towel.

"Sorry," the turian said, not sounding sorry at all, and placed the sought-after towel in her hands. "It's just, ah…"

"I know. I look like a sheepdog." Shepard climbed to her feet and, with less vigor than usual due to her injury, flipped her hair back. The movement sent a spike of pain through her neck anyway, and she winced. "How's it look? Still bleeding?"

Garrus peered at the wound, then shook his head. "No, but I still think you should have Dr. Tius look at it again anyway. You're still _supposed_ to be on bed rest, not going around getting into fights. You might damage something permanently."

Shepard pulled an unhappy face at him, but she knew he was right. She still wasn't going to go back to the hospital, though. She began to towel her hair dry. "Dr. Chakwas can handle it. When's the _Normandy_ arriving? Tomorrow?"

Garrus nodded and took the towel from her. "Let me do that. You shouldn't move so much. The _Normandy_ should be here in the morning. Do you have everything straightened out with Binary Helix, or do you still have paperwork—" and he made a disgusted sound at the thought, "left to do?"

"Hmm. Thanks. No, no more paperwork, but I do have some loose ends to tie off." _Shoot. Nihlus is coming back on the _Normandy _with us. Wait, somebody has to fly Garrus' stolen transport…hmm._ "Shouldn't take too long, though." But she could feel her stomach sinking at the thought of the inevitable conversation with Nihlus. It _was_ going to be a long morning.

"So," she said, forcing a measure of cheer back into her voice. "Any preference for dinner?"

* * *

The room was pitch black when Shepard woke up. It was an unhappy change from the past several days, when she'd slept soundly throughout the entire night, and with a groan she propped herself up on an elbow to fumble for the watch she could have _sworn_ she'd left on the bedside table.

_Nope. Just my pistol. Darn it._ She lowered herself back down with a grimace. The neck brace jabbed her under her chin. Dr. Tius had called just after they'd gotten back from dinner and given her a sound scolding for not coming back in to get the wound checked; Shepard had finally, grudgingly, agreed to at least wear the brace during the night. Now she soundly regretted it; the contraption not only forced her to move like a zombie, but also kept her shifting uncomfortably for a good hour before she'd finally fallen asleep. Not to mention how incredibly unattractive it was.

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling (or_ toward_ the ceiling, anyway), nibbling on her lower lip. Her toes were cold. She wiggled them experimentally and was unsurprised to find that they were uncovered. Garrus was _such_ a sheet hog.

Beside her, the turian was snuggled deep in a nest of pillows, blanket, and comforter, issuing a tiny snore with each breath. Shepard considered leaning over and tickling a mandible until he gave up at least a corner of a blanket, but with a sigh, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed instead. There was an extra comforter in a closet somewhere, and as a turian, Garrus probably needed the warmth.

The floor was chilly against her bare feet, and she shivered despite the thick, fleecy sleepwear she'd layered on. No matter how high she turned the thermostat, it always seemed cool in the room. _What do you expect from Noveria, I guess…_

She stood with a suppressed groan and began to carefully feel her way toward the coffee table where she'd left her omni-tool in a pile with the rest of her weapons. Two stubbed toes and a string of muffled curses later, she was picking through the pile as quietly as possible. _Shotgun…assault rifle…shotgun…pistol—hey, that's not mine—oh, Strahovsky's. Sniper rifle…_

"_Hah_," she muttered quietly as her fingers closed around the elusive omni-tool, and she grabbed a pillow off the couch to shield the brightness of the interface as she tapped it on and selected the flashlight function. Once dialed down to the lowest setting, it provided enough illumination to guide her to the appropriate closet without being bright enough to wake Garrus. She tiptoed as stealthily as possible across the room.

The closet yielded two extra blankets, which she tucked under an arm, and a pair of socks, which she pulled on gratefully. _Ah. Much better._ She returned to the bed and arranged the blankets, but despite the promise of warmth, she found that she wasn't terribly excited about the prospect of getting back into bed.

With another sigh, she checked the time on her omni-tool. 0404. _There's a joke in there about…computer errors or something. Kaidan would know it._ She smiled at the thought of the lieutenant. Odds were, he was _also_ awake—and trying desperately to settle a small blue child down again for the night. _Well, better him than me, that's for sure._

Struck by a sudden restlessness, Shepard roamed back to the coffee table and picked up her civilian pistol and gunbelt. Maybe a good middle-of-the-night stroll would help. Perhaps she could plan out what she would say to Nihlus in the morning.

She carefully removed the neckbrace—what a relief _that_ was—and put it on her pillow. If Garrus should happen to wake up while she was gone, hopefully it would let him know that he didn't need to panic.

Not that he was likely to wake up. Garrus slept like a rock.

Outside, the hallway was silent except for the faint hiss of the door as it closed behind her. The soft lighting gave the cold grey concrete a somber feeling, and Shepard sighed despondently. Despite her appreciation for the weather on Noveria, she was definitely ready to leave. And not come back for a long, long time.

For several minutes she wandered silently down the hall, pausing every so often to examine one of the artworks that gave the walls their only color. Most of it was abstract and asari in origin—not her favorite, she thought dryly as she raised an eyebrow at one particularly bizarre specimen.

"Ah, Shepard. I see I am not the only insomniac here tonight."

In a split second, she'd yanked her pistol from the holster and spun to face the speaker, a purely automatic reflex. Nihlus' violently green eyes gazed at her in amusement over the barrel of the gun, and she let out a slow breath before lowering the weapon sheepishly.

"Sorry. Just a little jumpy."

"Yes, I heard about the nasty incident with—Strahovsky, wasn't it? You did say you didn't think he would let it go. Are you all right?" And he stepped closer, reaching out to cup her chin. She closed her eyes and, unable to resist for a moment, leaned into his touch. Then she shook her head and forced herself to take a step back, her expression pained.

"I'm sorry…I just…" She turned away and rubbed her reddening cheeks, a horrible clenching sensation spreading over her midsection. "This was a huge mistake," she blurted, and buried her face in her hands. "I mean—not—_you_, but…getting…involved…" She groaned. "I'm such a _moron._"

Behind her, Nihlus let out a slow breath. "I'm not sure I understand..."

A brief but incredibly awkward silence followed, and Shepard slowly straightened, feeling annoyed at herself once more. _What's wrong with you? You're the Savior of the Galaxy. You coolly defeated a bajillion-year-old machine god. Where'd your spine go?_

She turned resolutely to face Nihlus. "Look, the truth is that—I like you a lot. I'm _very_ attracted to you. But…I'm in love with someone else. And…I guess I was just trying to convince myself that I'm not. It's…a new experience. I tend to run away from things I can't shoot or blow up."

"Ah." The turian slowly stroked a mandible. "That…explains some things. And while I cannot say I am not disappointed, I am not…surprised, either."

Shepard winced. Nihlus shook his head quickly. "Perhaps you have not been a Spectre long enough to know, but there are few with long-term relationships. I suspect a great deal of them have the same reaction to…emotional entanglements."

"That's no excuse, though…"

"Perhaps not. But I respect your feelings, and…in hindsight, I should not have been so—aggressive."

"I wasn't exactly fighting you off," Shepard pointed out dryly. She felt oddly relieved now that it was out in the open. Nihlus' mandibles twitched.

"Shall we agree to leave it at that?"

"Yes! Let's." The atmosphere in the hallway was suddenly less tense. Shepard consciously relaxed. She'd hardly realized how tight her shoulders had been.

"I must admit, I am curious about the identity of the lucky recipient of your affections. Might it be that young man who was so vigilant in the hospital?"

Shepard ducked her head and nodded sheepishly. "We met last year…he helped me bring down Saren."

"Ahh, yes. Garrus Vakarian, no? One of C-Sec's top operatives, if I recall. His father has said some very…strong words regarding the Spectres."

"Yeah," she said wryly. "It's a pretty big bone of contention between the two of them. I'm not sure they're really speaking any more. But Garrus is sure that the Spectres are the right path for him…and I agree."

"Then…" Nihlus held out his hand. "I will wish you two good luck. And good night to you, Shepard. Sleep well."

Shepard took his hand in hers. "Good night, Nihlus." They shook firmly, and then parted ways.


	16. In Which Shepard Inquires About Cake

**Chapter 16: In Which Shepard Inquires About Cake**

In the morning, Shepard woke underneath a cocoon of blankets. Garrus was nestled behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist and his breath tickling the back of her neck. For a moment she lay contentedly, cozily warm under the covers and listening to the faint thump of Garrus' heart against her back. She extended one arm, reluctantly poking it out into the chilly air, and patted the bedside table blindly. _I _know_ I left my omni-tool here last night…where is—aha!_ She snatched it off the table and turned it on. Underneath the sheets, the light bathed everything in a faint orange glow.

_1227. Hmm…lunch time. _She slowly wiggled out from under Garrus' arm and peered over her shoulder at him. He was still sound asleep, mouth open slightly and snoring ever-so-faintly. She couldn't bring herself to wake him.

The temperature when she emerged from the blankets was just as uncomfortable as it had been at the time of her impromptu meet with Nihlus, and she shivered as she shuffled to the bathroom.

One hot bath later, she felt ready to face the world, even if the bruise on her face _had_ matured to a lovely yellow-green and her hair was once again in a state of rebellion. "Oh well. Nobody's paying me to look gorgeous," she said to the mirror, and then yawned hugely. The sight of her damaged tooth made her frown mid-yawn. She'd somehow forgotten about the unsightly chip. "Great. Now I have to go to the dentist." If there was anything worse than a hospital, it was a dentist's office. With a sigh, she made a mental note to get an appointment once she returned to the Citadel.

Once dressed, she tapped out a message to Garrus on her omni-tool—_Went to lunch downstairs, sleepyhead. Shepard—_and checked the comm unit. One message. She downloaded it to her omni-tool to watch once she was out of the room and it wouldn't wake Garrus.

The hotel bar/restaurant was bustling, but the salarian host quickly escorted her to a booth in a quiet corner. As she waited for her waffles with chocolate sauce and powdered sugar (it wasn't on the menu, but the waiter had assured her the special order would be no problem), she opened her omni-tool again and brought up the message.

"_Good morning, Commander…we're here!"_

"Ugh," Shepard muttered, thoroughly displeased to see Joker's obnoxious face on the display. She had a fleeting thought of her bonsai tree and hoped that it was still in a respectable shape.

"_So, y'know, feel free to come aboard whenever you're ready. No hurry, take your time…we'll just be waiting here for ya."_

"Thanks. I'll do that." She deleted the message with a sigh and slurped her apple juice. The thought of her bonsai tree reminded her of the post she'd made to the gardening forum, asking for advice on her relationship woes, and to pass the time she brought the thread up. It had garnered a total of 107 responses, the most recent half consisting of posters wondering if she'd resolved the problem. A few worried about her lack of response; several bonsai enthusiasts fretted for her safety. Shepard felt a little guilty for leaving them hanging.

_Hey guys! Sorry to keep you in suspense. _ _ Don't worry, nothing untoward has happened with the guys (I did have a brief hospital stay, but not their fault—never fear, I kick serious butt _ _:)). Thanks everyone for all the advice. BF and I are working everything out. N (my coworker) and I are still on good terms. But staying professional. I'm leaving town today and likely won't see L again, which I suppose is probably a good thing._

_Thanks again for all the well wishes,_

_spectregurl15_

Then her waffles arrived, and she dug in with gusto.

As she left the restaurant, on her way to see Gianna for a last chat (and probably some loose paperwork to finish off, she thought regretfully, what with the SI and BH business), she spotted Lorik at the bar, contemplating his omni-tool over a martini. She smiled at the familiar sight and wound her way over to him.

He looked up as she approached, and made a pleased sound as he shut off the omni-tool.

"Ah, Commander. Fancy seeing you here."

She perched on the stool next to him and raised an eyebrow at his drink. "It does seem like you spend an awful lot of time at the bar, Lorik. If I didn't know better, I'd worry you were turning into an alcoholic."

"Merely a connoisseur, my dear." He tapped the glass thoughtfully. "I hear you are leaving today, Shepard. I must say I was surprised; you always seem to have such—wonderful adventures here on Noveria."

"I will be a bit sad to go," Shepard admitted, accepting the glass of water offered to her by the hanar bartender. "Noveria does have a certain…_je ne sais quoi_ to it. All that intrigue floating about. You can hardly turn around without bumping into some deep mystery that requires solving, or a charming turian who needs rescuing."

"Touché." He raised his glass, his tone amused. "I regret that your holiday here was interrupted by such an unfortunate incident, but I cannot say I am sorry for the opportunity to observe you in combat, Shepard. It was most enlightening."

"Likewise," she rejoined with a wink, and downed the water. (It was a poor substitute for a good whiskey, but it _was_ perhaps a bit early for imbibing.) She slid off the barstool and offered her hand. "It was good to see you again, Lorik. I hope the rest of your projects go smoothly. But if you ever find yourself in a tight spot, feel free to call."

"I appreciate that, Commander." He shook her hand, professional manner smoothly falling into place once more. Shepard suppressed a slight pang of regret. "Farewell, Shepard."

She forced herself to leave the bar without looking back.

* * *

Gianna was arguing with someone over the comm when Shepard arrived, waved on in by the harried salarian assistant. When the door opened, the administrator shot her a grateful look and snapped to the screen, "I have to go! I'll call you back. Just do what I tell you for once!"

"Someone giving you trouble?"

Gianna waved a hand and leaned back in her chair. "Nothing I can't handle. Just more bureaucratic idiots making a mess of things! You know how it is. Please, have a seat."

Shepard took the proffered chair and resisted the mighty urge to prop her feet up on the desk. "How are things going? Facing much fallout from the whole Binary Helix and Synthetic Insights snafu?"

"Oh, some. Nobody's really happy about it, of course. Too many valuable scientists lost, pretty heavy ERCS casualties. At least it wasn't as bad as that Benezia mess from _last_ year. It took us five months to get Peak 15 operational again!" She sighed gustily and plonked her own feet on the desk. Shepard resisted the urge to shoot her an envious look.

"Speaking of ERCS, I was wondering what happened to the three you sent along with me."

"Well, Strahovsky's cooling his heels. Don't worry about him. Nice job, by the way. That broken arm's going to bother him for a long time—he deserves it, the pig. Do you know, I had almost filed a couple sexual harassment complaints about him when I was working as Anoleis' secretary? If I hadn't been undercover…ergh. Anyway, Matsuo's none too happy. I don't think he's going to be staying here on Noveria. ERCS takes plenty of worse-paying jobs on nastier planets. To be honest, though, I'm surprised you didn't just finish him off. _I_ certainly wouldn't have filed any complaints with the Council."

"Believe me, I was tempted," Shepard said dryly. "I didn't need the target practice."

"Well, that's certainly your prerogative. As for the other two, Palos is fine. She's taking a couple days of paid leave along with the rest of the survivors, and having a session with a therapist. I think she'll be fine, though. She's pretty no-nonsense, even for a turian. Jensen was injured in the fight and needed some surgery, but according to the doctor she's going to be all right. After she recovers, she's probably out of here. The extra hazard pay is enough to set her for a while, I think. It may be a crappy job, but never let it be said that ERCS doesn't take care of its people."

"That's good to hear." She paused thoughtfully. "I ought to send her a fruit basket or something."

"That can certainly be arranged," Gianna responded, tapping at her keyboard. "Alien or Earth in origin?"

"Err…" Shepard blinked. She hadn't been entirely serious. "Whatever sounds nice?"

"No problem. I'll have my assistant set it up." Gianna stabbed a button on her desk. "Jorin?"

"Yes, Ms. Parisini?" came the unmistakably annoyed salarian voice.

"Put together a fruit basket for Annika Jensen, would you? From the Spectre Shepard."

There was an irritated sigh, then a mutter of agreement, and Gianna grinned at Shepard. "I love having an assistant. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Do you happen to know if Rana Thanoptis made it out of Peak 15 unscathed?"

"Hmm…let me check." Gianna perused her screen for a moment. "Ah, yes. Binary Helix employee. Looks like she did get out all right, but had a mental breakdown shortly afterward. She's taking a week off, but it's up in the air as to whether or not she'll be able to handle any more projects."

"Ah." Somehow, Shepard was unsurprised. She leaned back in the chair and tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the armrest. "Where's she staying? Maybe I can give her a pep talk."

Gianna looked taken aback. "Uh…well, I can certainly give you her room number…but are you sure that's a good idea? No offense, Shepard, but she seems like the fragile type. You like to bludgeon. It works for you, no arguments there, but from what I've heard, she always took a half-hour break whenever you went to BH to check on the project. Apparently she had to psych herself up to talk to you."

"Oh." Shepard couldn't help but feel crestfallen. Sure, she was never terribly concerned with how other people reacted to her, as long as they didn't cause problems, but she'd never noticed her manner having an adverse affect on people who weren't in her way. "Well, maybe I can at least send her a thank-you note for her help with the—project. And see about getting her a raise."

"Can't go wrong with that!" Gianna laughed. "A raise would sure alleviate some of _my_ stress."

Shepard chuckled as she rose from the chair. "Well, I should probably get to it before my crew descends on Port Hanshan and drags me bodily to my ship. Thanks for all your help, Gianna. And for that beer."

"No problem. I'll see you around, Commander." They shook hands, and Shepard departed the office with a bounce in her step. Her cheerful Christmas spirit had returned full force, and even the glare that Jorin sent her way couldn't damped her mood. Or stop her from whistling_ God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen_.

On the way back to the hotel, she stopped at a Starbucks to pick up a half dozen turian donuts for Garrus and an extra caramel, extra whipped cream caramel frappuccino for herself. She hummed around the straw all the way back to the room.

Garrus was occupying the bathroom when she stepped in the door. She could hear a faint splashing and the sound of some garbled turian pop song through the door, and she suppressed a giggle. Garrus never sang in the shower if he knew she was in hearing range.

She plonked the box of donuts onto the coffee table next to the weapon pile and then seated herself in front of the comm unit.

"Good afternoon, Commander. How many I direct your call?"

"Rana Thanoptis, private residence, please," she told the VI. The call rang several times with no answer, and Shepard wondered if she'd have to leave a message. She hated leaving messages.

Then the asari appeared on the screen, her eyes red and watery. Her normally turquoise face turned a pale green when she saw Shepard.

"Oh—C-commander, I…uh, what can I do for you?" She sniffed loudly. Shepard felt distinctly uncomfortable. Perhaps she should have taken Gianna's advice after all.

"Well, actually, I just, ah…wanted to see how you were doing. And to thank you for your—excellent work with Nihlus. We both appreciate it. A lot."

"Oh." Rana sniffled again. "I'm—well—you're welcome." She lapsed into nervous silence, and then blew her nose mightily.

"Uh, I also wanted to…say how sorry I was that you got caught up in, er, experiments gone…dangerous. Again. At least there was no nuke this time?…" The last was a tentative addition that Shepard immediately regretted. Rana blanched even further at the reminder of Virmire. "But, uh, if you would prefer, I'm sure you could transfer to a less hazardous research facility…maybe somewhere on the Citadel? BH does have a branch there, I think…and you'll want to write a huge paper on what you've done here, right? You'll probably have every medical facility in the galaxy slobbering at your feet. You'll be on the cover of, um…_Galactic Science Today_."

Rana brightened almost imperceptibly. "I…suppose so…I'm not really into writing papers—I prefer to be hands-on…but…maybe it would be a good idea to move…"

"There you go," Shepard said encouragingly, feeling a tangible relief. Distraught people made her _so _uncomfortable. Behind her, she could hear the sound of the bathroom door opening, and the previously muted sound of Garrus' singing grew louder immediately. Rana paused in mid-sniff, a startled look on her face. The singing stopped.

"Oh. I didn't realize you were…uh…back…"

Shepard shot an apologetic look in his direction, and then turned back to the screen with a forced smile. "So! Rana, I hope I helped a little, and, uh, good luck getting published. You deserve it. Absolutely. I have to go. But, uh, I'll talk to you later."

The asari stuttered some agreement and a farewell, and Shepard hastily switched off the comm. She turned to see Garrus standing in the hallway, looking extremely embarrassed, clutching a haphazardly-wrapped turian bathrobe around himself. His mandibles spasmed, and then he beat a hasty retreat back into the bathroom. Shepard trailed after him.

"I thought you sounded nice…" she called through the door, unsure just how bruised his ego was. He could be _so_ sensitive about silly things. "Better than I would, anyway!"

There was no response. She sighed and rested her forehead against the wall next to the doorpanel. "Come on, Garrus…I got you donuts…"

After a few more moments with no audible movement, she sighed again and went to the closet to drag out her luggage. _Time to pack. The worst part of vacations. It all fits _fine_ when you leave home, but when you're trying to put it back in? Ohhh no._ With yet another sigh, she began opening drawers and pulling out clothing articles, tossing them despondently into the open bags. Garrus would probably have a fit if he saw the wrinkled heap she was making with the clean clothes. She smiled at the thought of the little frustrated noises he always made as he fussed and hovered, re-doing whatever sloppy job she'd just finished. _I'll just have to get done before he comes out and spare him the stress._ It wasn't hard: the dresser was hardly overflowing, and the closet wasn't jammed full either.

When Garrus finally poked his head out of the bathroom, Shepard was crouched on the floor, carefully arranging the last article—the red dress she'd worn to dinner with Lorik. It was expensive enough to warrant a careful placement on top of the pile, smoothed and strapped down to ensure it didn't end up horribly creased. She looked up at Garrus as she closed the bag and zipped it shut; he shuffled his feet a little and adjusted his eyepiece.

"Um. You said you got donuts?"

She grinned and pointed at the coffee table. "Right there. Half a dozen pumpkin-glazed turian-style rings of deep-fried deliciousness."

"Thanks." He padded past her and popped open the box. "Need help packing the guns? Armor?"

"Sure. Just don't get everything sticky," she said with a wink, and he snorted around a mouthful of pastry.

"_You're_ the one who spilled an entire pot of coffee down the front of your Predator," he mumbled. "And somehow poured a bag of flour over your shotgun…"

"Ugh, you _had_ to bring that incident up again. I was just _teasing._" She affected a wounded look and began hauling their armor from the closet. "You know I can never get this stuff back into those crates it comes in. It must take a rocket scientist to arrange everything for shipping."

Garrus chuckled and polished off the donut. "All right, _cicer_. I'll put the armor away."

"Thanks." She kissed him on the cheek. "I'll just go pack up the bathroom, and then I think we'll be out of here."

* * *

It was with mixed feelings that she let the room, Garrus and baggage in tow. It had certainly been a memorable vacation, and she would definitely be sad to see the end of the snow; plus she and Garrus had, eventually and with some pain, worked out a few issues in their relationship. Or at least figured out that they existed. It would take a while to actually conquer the problems, but it was a beginning; she planned to march to the Embassy first thing and demand that she be assigned to a mission. One that didn't involve paperwork.

The elevator ride was as long as ever. Shepard leaned against Garrus and yawned, unable to suppress a feeling of lethargy, and he put an arm around her shoulder. The news feed droned on about all the highly uninteresting things happening in the galaxy, and then there was a quick mention of Nihlus—"the previously MIA Spectre is returning to the Citadel today, amidst much speculation—" and Shepard frowned. She'd forgotten that Nihlus would be going with them.

As if on cue, her omni-tool beeped at her. She tapped it open and was greeted by the bright green eyes of turian himself. "Commander Shepard, good morning. Are you leaving the hotel soon?"

"Yeah, we're on our way down now. Have you checked out?" Beside her, Garrus shifted and made an uncomfortable sound.

"Indeed. I was just considering our agreement, Shepard. Perhaps it would be best if I piloted the vessel that Mr. Vakarian…'borrowed,' and he accompanied you on the _Normandy_ instead."

"Oh. That's very thoughtful, Nihlus. We'd definitely appreciate that." Garrus relaxed, and she felt his fingers absently petting her ponytail. On the screen, Nihlus nodded briskly.

"Very well. I will meet you at the hotel bar to get the clearance keys."

"Sounds good."

The elevator doors slid open a moment after she closed the omni-tool, and she and Garrus rolled out toward the bar.

Nihlus was lounging on a barstool, sipping something pale blue and watching the other patrons like a hawk. Shepard felt a tiny flicker of weakness at the thought, and then she squashed it ruthlessly. She _would_ be professional. She glanced at Garrus and saw from the strain in his mandibles that he was struggling somewhat as well (although for different reasons, of course). But they greeted each other with courteous, if not warm, nods, and as Garrus opened his omni-tool to bring up the codes for the shuttle, she let her gaze wander across the bar.

A familiar sight caught her eye almost immediately. There, tucked away in the corner, was Lorik Qui'in, an elegantly shaped glass of something red in his hand. His eyes were trained on the bar, a ways down from where Nihlus sat, and she followed his gaze to where Maeko Matsuo was perched on a stool, apparently oblivious.

_Or not._ And Shepard watched with raised eyebrows as Matsuo accepted a drink from the bartender and then slid off the stool to march over to Lorik's table. Although she couldn't hear the conversation, the little smile on Matsuo's face said plenty, and Shepard grinned as Lorik graciously invited the captain to sit. _I recognize that look…well, good for him. I guess all's well that ends well…_

* * *

"Ahhh. Home sweet home," Shepard sighed happily as the canned air of the _Normandy_ rushed over her. The soft blue interior of the warship was a welcome sight after the blindingly boring grey of Port Hanshan. She moseyed forward through the gangway, luggage bumping along behind her.

"Welcome back aboard, Commander!" chirped Tali from the pilot's chair. All Shepard could see of her was one arm, which was being waved vigorously at her, and the top of her head as she leaned back to peer around the back of the chair. A faint _"Oof!"_ issued from Joker. The quarian's favorite perch was the pilot's lap, despite his mumbled protestations. (She was _very_ careful, she'd assured Dr. Chakwas.)

"Hey, Tali."

Garrus muttered a similar greeting, but he was interrupted by a tiny wailing sound. They both started, exchanging quizzical looks, and then Tali hopped off of Joker's lap and bounced toward them. In her arms rested a small blue child.

"Hey, Commander."

Shepard spun.

Kaidan and Liara smiled tiredly at her, and the second blue toddler bounced on Liara's hip, burbling happily.

Shepard gulped. "Uhh. Hi. Guys. Uh…I thought…you were…"

"Well, we thought that since you couldn't come to the party on Earth, we'd just bring it to you!" Liara said cheerfully, the smile wrinkling the corners of her weary eyes. Shepard stared at the party hat perched atop Kaidan's head, and behind her she heard Garrus make a strangled sound. She couldn't tell if it was suppressed laughter or tears.

"Oh, _Jeff,_" cooed Tali as she rocked the twin she held, "don't they just make you want to have _babies?_" Joker made a sound curiously like the one Garrus had just produced, and the quarian laughed. "I'm just joking. I don't think anyone who still wears superhero underwear is ready to be a father…"

"OH-kay," Shepard said loudly, "this conversation is _not _something I want to overhear! Kaidan, Liara, it was very thoughtful of you to come…err…I see you brought hats! Is there…cake? Oh, I have presents for the girls…I was going to ship them, but since you're…here…ah, which one is—I can't—how do you tell them apart? Uhh…"

"Oh, it's easy!" And Liara, suddenly chipper, thrust her child into Shepard's arms.

Suddenly, another week on Noveria wasn't looking that bad after all.

**THE END**

* * *

A/N: A huge thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! I appreciated all the comments more than I can say. :) I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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